10. Chapter 10 Grim Tidings
Chapter 10: Grim Tidings
Saturday, 20 June
Darcy House
Elizabeth
A t Slade’s announcement, I entered the drawing-room. When Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley approached me, my anticipatory smile abated. My blonde-haired friend moved in a sluggish gait, and her complexion lacked its usual rosy glow. The lacklustre picture she presented preoccupied me, delaying my return greetings to her and Mrs. Annesley.
I found Mrs. Annesley’s habitual amiable comportment to be absent as well. Did she fret for her charge’s welfare?
“Thank you for calling, Miss Bennet.” Miss Darcy’s blue eyes roved around the room, meeting mine for brief moments. “I am sorry for not attending you yesterday.”
“Pray, do not apologise. Are you still unwell?”
“No, not any longer. But the pain persisted until late into the night, so I did not sleep for more than an hour or two.”
“Have you been seen by a medical professional?”
“Yes. Although I had told Miles it was not necessary, he insisted upon calling for the apothecary. Mr. Knight examined me and found nothing of concern.”
“I am glad for that.”
Miss Darcy gestured to a sofa. “Please sit here, and I shall call for tea.” She maintained the stoop-shouldered appearance of someone either in pain or suffering from exhaustion. She ought to have made her regrets, but she must not have wanted to decline to see me a second time.
At any rate, I should not have my friend pretend to be hale for my sake. “Thank you, but I shall take my leave now. I believe a long nap will set you to rights again.”
“But you…you came all the way across town.”
“Yes, because I wanted to see you. And now that I have, I believe you need to rest.”
“Well, if you are certain…”
“Yes, most certain.” With a few parting words, I left them and returned to Gracechurch Street.
Back at my uncle’s house, Aunt Gardiner came towards me in the hall. “Lizzy, I did not expect you back so soon. Is anything amiss?”
I explained what had occurred.
“The poor girl.” My aunt’s lips pressed flat. “Shall I invite Miss Darcy, Mr. Miles, and Mrs. Annesley to dinner on Wednesday?”
“Thank you, yes. By then, my friend ought to be well recovered.”
Monday, 22 June
Gracechurch Street
Elizabeth
Lydia played the final notes of ‘Greensleeves’ from a simplified arrangement created for her by Mrs. Perry.
I rose from my chair and applauded. “That was lovely, Lydia.”
She gave me a transient smile. “I bungled a few notes at the beginning. It unnerves me to play for anyone other than Mrs. Perry—even you.”
“With more practice, performing will become less disquieting for you.”
Barnet entered the music room and came to me. He held out a letter. “This is for you, Miss Bennet.”
I took the offering, which bore Miss Darcy’s distinctive seal. “Thank you, Barnet.”
“Who is it from?” asked Lydia.
“Miss Darcy.” I broke the seal and skimmed the message. My progress halted on a fateful line: Miss de Bourgh had died.
My sister set aside the music and stepped before me. “What does she say?”
“The Darcys’ cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh, succumbed to her illness on Saturday.”
Her brows lowered. “Oh dear, that is sad.”
“Yes, quite so. Under the circumstances, Miss Darcy and Mr. Miles have declined Aunt Gardiner’s invitation to dinner on Wednesday. They will remain at home this week out of respect for their cousin.”
“Darn!” Lydia scowled. “I had hoped to play ‘Greensleeves’ for Mr. Miles that night.”
For goodness’ sake. “Lydia, it is time you ceded any notion Mr. Miles Darcy could ever be more than a friend to you.”
“I see no reason why he would not choose me.” Her voice grew strident. “Many gentlemen marry ladies much younger than them.”
“Yes, but he is…” Oh, I had almost forgotten my agreement to make no mention of Mr. Miles’s engagement. “He is already courting a particular lady, so I should not be surprised if he became engaged before the end of summer.”
Her shoulders rounded. “Then you believe there is no hope for me?”
“I am afraid so, but I do not doubt you will meet a gentleman one day who will be ideal for you.”
Lydia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “But I want to marry him !”
I put my arm around her. “You do not truly know Mr. Miles. You are enamoured of your fanciful notion of him, but that is not reality.”
She pulled back from me and snuffled. “Well, I suppose he is not perfect in every way. In truth, I should prefer a man with broader shoulders and a deeper voice.” She raised her handkerchief and blew her nose. “Oh yes, and do you recall his reply when I asked him what card game he most preferred? He said he finds playing cards to be tedious . How can anyone dislike such a diverting pastime?”
“Yes, his opinion is rather singular.” I bit back a smile and patted her arm. “Excuse me, I shall see you at dinner.” Upstairs in my chamber, I sat upon the bed and read the remainder of Miss Darcy’s note. My breath caught when I fixed upon one momentous line:
Fitzwilliam estimates he will return home on or about Friday the 26 th of June.
At long last, our separation neared its end—I should see him in less than a week! Would he come to Gracechurch Street on Friday? Then an image of Miss Anne de Bourgh from my stay in Kent impinged upon my blithe anticipation. The bleak tidings of her death, though not unexpected, diminished my contentment. How cruel life could be—to take a lady in the prime of her life.
Friday, 26 June
Gracechurch Street
Elizabeth
With Jane’s latest letter in hand, I settled on a bench in the garden shaded by a pear tree. She provided a detailed description of sea-bathing, an activity she had been nervous to try but found to be delightful and invigorating.
Footfalls on the stone path pulled my attention from the missive. Could it be him ? At my first glimpse of Fitzwilliam’s tall form entering the garden, I hastily stowed the letter in my pocket and leaped to my feet. I went towards him in a giddy, unladylike haste. But when the grim turn of his mien came into focus, my steps faltered, and my smile vanished: he appeared more reminiscent of the man who had insulted me at the Meryton assembly last autumn than the one with whom I had fallen in love.
Then the black band around his arm caught my notice. Goodness, what was wrong with me? How could I expect him to be joyous at our reunion when his poor cousin had perished mere days ago? It must have been trying for him to comfort Lady Catherine, who had lost her only child.
His dark irises settled upon me and softened. “Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you again. You look very well.”
Miss Bennet? No doubt the loss of his cousin distracted him. I worked past the thickness in my throat. “Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I am gratified for your return, though I am very sorry for the loss of your cousin.”
“I appreciate that.”
“How does Lady Catherine fare?”
“She is, or will be, well. She is a formidable lady.”
“The past weeks must have been exceedingly difficult for you and your family.” My teeth closed upon my lower lip. I could not shake the impression another matter distressed him. “Is anything else weighing upon you?”
He swept his hand to the pathway. “May we walk towards the far end of the garden? I want to ensure we are not disturbed.”
“Yes, of course.” An inkling of foreboding slowed my steps as I obtained my gloves and bonnet from the bench. What could he have to say? We took the indicated route. Unlike the previous times we had walked here, he did not offer his arm. I tilted my head to view him. He took laboured steps beside me, as though each footfall exerted discomfort. His clothes seemed looser than before; he must have lost weight. A hint of shadow tainted the area beneath his eyes. “Are you ill?”
“No, I am not.”
“But I suspect you have had little sleep.” I put my hand on his upper arm.
He flinched and jerked from me.
With a silent gasp, I retracted my hand. He had never done anything like this before! What could it mean?
Fitzwilliam lifted his palm. “Please do not—I cannot do this if you touch me.”
A chill darted between my shoulder blades. “Please tell me what is wrong.”
He avoided my gaze. “If your sentiments towards me have altered—if you no longer want to marry me—I should not want you to feel obligated to fulfil our agreement.”
What? Why would he say this?
“Few people know of our understanding, so we could end it without any harm to your reputation. I shall respect your wishes, whatever they may be.”
How could he think I wanted to break our agreement? Could this misconception have originated from the baseless rumour in the papers? No, if he had formed any suspicions along those lines, Mr. Miles would have eliminated them. Why else would he have drawn this conclusion?
His declaration made no sense—unless… My stomach convulsed, and I attempted to pacify the spasms with measured breaths. His feelings had altered. The fear I had buried in the murky recesses of my mind had been realised— he no longer wants to marry me . Nevertheless, he would not utter the words certain to pain me. Rather, he sought to preserve my dignity by allowing us to adopt the fiction that I had decided to end our understanding. How could this have happened? Had I done or said anything wrong on one of the last times we met?
Or had another lady played a part in this reversal? Whilst I had pined for him every waking hour of these past weeks, he had shared company with Miss Rebecca Finch. Had he formed an attachment to her? Or maybe her example had prompted him to reconsider our match when he could have his pick of many other more propitious choices. Lady Matlock could have utilised her time at Rosings to deter him from me as well. In truth, the reason for his altered sentiment did not matter a whit.
Fitzwilliam raised his hat and spread his fingers through the curls on the side of his head. “Your happiness is my primary concern.”
“My… my happiness?”
“Yes.”
In a manner of speaking, our wishes coincided—for I cared most for his felicity. I took in his beloved, tortured countenance and locked my hands into a tight ball lest the urge to touch him once more overwhelm me. How could I fail to assist him by making our parting as easy for him as possible? “You need not be concerned for me.” Drat , my voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “I am not made for unhappiness. No doubt we moved forwards in haste without giving this weighty decision sufficient consideration.”
“Tell me what you want to do.” His eyes anchored upon me, probing as though to decipher an enigma.
I fought the urge to wilt under his scrutiny. Did the words exist that could make him love me again? In an indirect fashion, he had made his wishes plain, so there could be no benefit in stating my foolish desires. How could I bear the loss of his love? In any case, I should not say or do aught to increase his evident discomfort.
Setting my shoulders, I sought a placid air. “If you have no objection, I shall inform my father that I have changed my mind.” I bit the inside of my mouth and turned from him. If I am wrong, if he still wants me, he will object—he will not let me go.
“Very well.”
I steeled myself against the inclination to shrink. This must be his desired result. Otherwise, he would attempt to change my mind. Our romance, a beautiful flight of fancy, could not withstand the rigours of reality.
“No matter what the future may bring, I value your friendship. If you ever need anything, you may always come to me.”
A welling of moisture stung my eyes. Could I bear to be in his company as a mere friend? Due to his association with Mr. Bingley, I could not avoid him forever; thus, I must prepare myself to endure his presence with equanimity. “Thank you.” Somehow, I had managed to sound unaffected.
“And I want you to keep the ring. It belongs to you.”
Dear me—the ring. “No, I…I cannot.” I reached to my nape and fumbled with the tiny clasp on the gold chain.
“Please, I chose that ring for you and want you to have it.”
Devoid of the energy to protest further, I abandoned the effort, and my hands fell to my sides. I could post the ring to Miss Darcy later. At present, I needed to leave or risk breaking down in front of him. “Forgive me, but I must go.” Without a backwards glance, I rushed towards the nearest door of the house. Silent pleas repeated in my head: for him to follow, call my name, and declare his love for me—but he did not.
Upon reaching the first-floor landing, I broke into a run. Once inside my chamber, I closed the door, leaned against it, and collapsed to the floor. Unrestrained sobs flowed from me as I threw off my bonnet and gloves. I removed the necklace and caressed the precious ring between my fingers.
Perhaps an hour passed before my tears subsided, and I rinsed my red, puffy eyes with cool water. I wrapped the gold chain and ring in a plain handkerchief. At the escritoire, I scrawled a brief note to Miss Darcy and sealed the ring inside.
“Lizzy.” My aunt rapped upon the door.
I rose and went to the mirror, frowning at my image. “Come in, Aunt.”
“Barnet mentioned Mr. Darcy had been here.” She hastened to me. “What is wrong?”
“We are not engaged. He…changed his mind.”
She gaped at me. “No, that cannot be true. Is that what he told you?”
“No, he went out of his way to reduce my distress. He offered to release me if it suited my wishes. Of course, I never said a word to indicate a change of heart on my part, so I comprehended his object. I do not doubt he would have honoured our agreement against his own preference—I needed to be the one to break with him.”
“Oh, Lizzy, I find this difficult to accept. I am certain he loves you.”
“I thought so as well. I do not doubt he still cares for me, but he no longer believes I am a good match for him.”
She took me in her arms, stroking my back. “I am so sorry. Maybe the viscount, the earl, or one of his aunts argued against the match and persuaded him to reconsider. Nevertheless, I am still convinced you are the ideal lady for him. If Edward speaks to him—”
“No!” I jerked back from her. “Please do not ask Uncle to interfere. It is over, and there is nothing more to be said.”
“Very well, if that is your wish.”
“Without a doubt.” I rested a hand over my racing heart. “I should like to return home tomorrow.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, I have been away for too long as it is.”
“Then I shall make the arrangements.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “Dinner is in an hour.”
“May I dine in my room tonight?”
“Yes, of course.” She raised her palm to my cheek. “Send for me if you want to talk, no matter the time.”
“I shall, thank you.”
With a nod, my aunt left me.
Later that evening, I composed a letter to Jane. I gave her a concise account of what had transpired between Mr. Darcy and me and informed her that I should return to Longbourn on the morrow.
Someone knocked upon the door, and I set down my pen. “Yes?”
“Lizzy, it is me.” My sister’s voice had a subdued sound.
“Come in, Lydia.” I stood from the escritoire.
She entered the chamber at a sedate pace. “Aunt Gardiner appeared to be out of sorts this evening, but she did not confide in me, nor would she tell me why you did not dine with us.” Her gaze bored into me. “Your eyes are swollen. Have you been crying?”
“Yes, a little. I…um…suffered from abdominal pains earlier. But I feel much better now.”
“I am glad you are recovered.” She sat upon my bed. “Aunt Gardiner said you are returning to Longbourn tomorrow. Why is that?”
“I suppose I am homesick.”
“Are you still angry with me for believing that rumour in the newspaper?”
“No, not at all.”
She propelled from the bed and hugged me. “It will not be the same here without you.”
“Thank you, Lydia.” After a moment, I drew out of her arms. “Please mind Aunt Gardiner and Mrs. Perry.”
“Yes, I promise I shall.”
Saturday, 27 June
Longbourn
Elizabeth
I stood before my bedroom window, taking in the view I used to cherish. But neither the familiar flora in the garden nor the warm welcome from my family could ease my suffering. Although I missed Jane, not even she could help me now; she had a duty to Charles before anyone else, and the pair of them represented the marital contentment I could never have.
The Lizzy who had slept here earlier this month no longer existed. I had transformed from a self-assured, merry person to a pathetic figure, a living ghost drowning in the misery of unrequited love. I no longer belonged here, or London, or anywhere else. What would become of me?
Soft knocks upon the door prompted me to turn and school my countenance. “Come in.”
Mrs. Hill popped her head into the chamber. “Miss Lizzy, the master wants to see you in the study.”
“Thank you.” Papa, at least, would be pleased to hear my tidings, for he had been proved correct.
In the study, I greeted my father and took my usual seat.
Papa removed his spectacles and inspected me. “My dear, your customary vivacity is absent. Am I correct in my assumption that Mr. Darcy is to blame?”
“He and I have decided not to marry.” Due to my having rehearsed this simple explanation, I maintained an even tone.
His lips parted, then curved up. “Well, that is a great relief. I hoped you would come to your senses.” His palms came together, sliding back and forth. “Pray, do not feel bad for having accepted him. I fancy once he abandoned his arrogant demeanour, he must have appeared to be an advantageous match for you. Without question, his wealth could have provided you a life of luxury, but an abundance of money would not have made you happy, no indeed.”
He emitted a short laugh. “A powerful man like Mr. Darcy, one accustomed to ruling over everyone around him, would have demanded you abandon everything that makes you unique. He would have conformed you into his ideal of proper behaviour. Over time, he would have crushed your spirit, remaking you into someone I no longer recognised.”
No, he would not have done that. But no benefit would come from arguing the point now.
“Thank goodness I followed my instincts and insisted you wait. I could not abide the thought of that man keeping you shut away in Derbyshire—lonely and despondent and far from the fellowship of your friends and family. You, the most sensible of my daughters, must see that all has turned out for the best.”
“Yes, Papa.” I attempted to sound complacent.
“Your mother needed her smelling salts after reading that hearsay in the newspaper of your romance with Mr. Darcy’s cousin. I trust the report bore no resemblance to the truth.”
“Not at all, and I wrote to Mama to tell her so.” Of course, that did not stop her from confronting me upon my arrival to insist I return to London and ‘make a better effort to earn the Darcy cousin’s favour’.
He rose and hummed his way to the nearby bookshelf, glancing back at me with a grin. “I put this book aside for you to read.” He removed a small volume and held it up.
I leaned forwards for a better view of the prolix title. “ Epistles on Women, Exemplifying their Character and Condition in Various Ages and Nations, With Miscellaneous Poems . It sounds amusing.”
“Yes, it is also frank, ambitious, and apt to shock many narrow-minded readers. I trust that will not discourage your interest.” His smile took on a wry bent.
“No, certainly not.” I accepted the book from him. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. I am eager to hear your opinion of Miss Aikin’s work.” He returned to his seat at the desk. “There has been a dearth of insight and wisdom in this house without you, Lizzy. I am glad to have you home again.”
“I appreciate that.” Tears pricked at my eyes. Longbourn no longer seemed like home. Mama expected me to seek a husband, but how could I marry when my heart belonged to a man I could not have? In time, maybe I should seek a position as a companion. I could not bear the notion of remaining here for years on end. I stood and went towards the door, avoiding my father’s gaze. “I shall see you at dinner.”
That night, after an hour of tossing and turning in bed, I rose and lit a candle. My sight fell upon Miss Aikin’s volume lying upon my bedside table. I had read the introduction before dinner, yet the book did not interest me at present.
I went to my bureau, removed a diary, and leafed to the first blank page. Jane had given this to me the Christmas before last. At the time, it had seemed like an ideal gift since I had kept several diaries in my youth. But I had outgrown the girlish topics that used to fill my pages and had yet to write in this one—perhaps because I had nothing of significance to document; now, though, I did. If I recorded the whole of my acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, I might find a bit of peace for the way we parted. Yet, I could not bear the thought of laying my heartache out on paper, even for my own eyes.
The blank page held my sight as though to taunt me. Could I find solace in writing a different narrative? What if I attempted to write a fictional account, one divergent from my own story but incorporating a similar form of heartbreak? I could fabricate this original story using characters who bore no likeness to anyone of my acquaintance; that way, I should use my anguish for inspiration whilst preserving my privacy. In contrast to my ill-fated romance, I could give my protagonists a happy conclusion.
While seated at my escritoire, I devised and rejected several potential plot ideas before settling upon one.
I took out paper, pens, and ink and began to write. Before long, the words flew from my mind faster than I could put them down. I employed an improvised short-hand, which improved my progress. Several hours later, I had completed my first chapter. I put my materials away and returned to bed. This time, I fell into the arms of Morpheus soon after I closed my eyes.