Chapter Ten
Longbourn
Elizabeth
The previous evening’s snowfall had continued through the night, leaving a delicate veil of white across the landscape.
Ice crystals wreathed the edges of her window, their fragile beauty casting shimmering patterns upon the glass.
Elizabeth awoke to the gentle crackle of flames; the maid had coaxed the embers in the grate into a lively blaze, and the room was already warmer than on previous mornings.
Snug beneath the counterpane, her head nestled upon a soft down pillow, Elizabeth lingered, loath to stir. Sleep still clung to her senses, and she blinked drowsily as her dreams, sweet as they had been, slipped swiftly from her memory.
Then, sitting up with a sudden start, she glanced toward the fireplace and noticed a small parcel resting upon the table beside her chair.
Eager curiosity stirred her fully awake.
Casting aside the counterpane, she slid her feet into the waiting slippers, shrugged into her dressing gown, and drew the sash tight before crossing the room in quick steps to retrieve the package.
Lowering herself into her chair, Elizabeth gathered the parcel onto her lap. Her fingers trembled as she untied the twine and peeled away the paper. How delightful a pleasure the opening of a present can be. Perhaps we ought to make it a tradition.
Beneath the wrappings lay a length of satin, concealing a tender weight within. She unfolded the fabric carefully, snatching up the slip of paper that fluttered free before it could fall to the floor.
On the fourth day of Christmas,
Wrapped in satin so rare,
Four velvet ribbons
To adorn thy hair.
She began to lay the slip aside, only to notice writing upon the reverse. Curious, she turned it over and read two more lines.
These ribbons could never compare to the color of your lovely eyes. It is impossible to capture the exact shade, for never have I seen any so fine.
The ribbons, in truth, were nearly to the exact hue of her eyes.
She admired them instantly and resolved to tuck them safely away when not in use, lest Lydia discover them.
They were far superior to anything to be had in Meryton, and her youngest sister, ever quick to covet, would be sorely tempted to claim them.
Fortunately, the whirl of activities and invitations had thus far kept Lydia from noticing any of the small treasures Elizabeth had received.
She did not venture out that morning. Instead, she dressed in one of her warmest walking gowns, intending to walk into Meryton after breakfast. She wove one of the violet ribbons through her curls, pausing to admire her reflexion in the looking glass before descending the stairs.
Jane looked up as she entered, her knowing gaze flicking to the ribbon in Elizabeth’s hair before returning to her meal.
“Good morning, Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet glanced up from his paper. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, thank you.” Elizabeth took a plate from the sideboard and began to serve herself. “I plan to walk into Meryton later. Jane, will you come with me?”
Jane shook her head. “Mama has decreed that I remain at home to help her plan my wedding.” Her cheeks warmed, and a tender smile curved her lips, her whole countenance alight with a happiness that could not be mistaken.
“We have not chosen a date, though our mother insists that a spring wedding is best.” She pulled a face so uncharacteristic that Elizabeth could not help but laugh.
“Do you not agree with her, my dear?” Mr. Bennet turned his attention to Jane.
“Your mother would like nothing better than to spend months planning a lavish wedding and wedding breakfast. Such extravagance will come at considerable expense to Longbourn’s coffers.
While I shall not deny you what is your due as my eldest, and the first of my daughters to marry, I would prefer not to be beggared by Mrs. Bennet’s efforts. ”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged an amused glance. Their father’s sentiments were predictable; he would gladly leave the entire business to the ladies, provided it required little expense or trouble to himself. At least he shows some awareness of my mother’s talent for excess.
“I have not yet spoken to Charles on the matter.” Jane’s soft-spoken reply drew Elizabeth from her musings. “I should prefer not to wait until spring…and I believe he will feel the same.”
Mr. Bennet rustled his newspaper and said dryly, “Be so good as to inform me when you have fixed a date, my dear,” effectively ending the conversation. His peace, however, would not last; knowing the others would soon be down, he left the table for his study.
“Is Mr. Bingley to call this afternoon?” Elizabeth asked, breaking a roll and spreading it with butter before taking a bite.
Jane replied with a ready nod. “He has some business to which he must attend, but I have invited him to spend the rest of the day at Longbourn.” She beamed.
“Oh, Lizzy, I am so very happy! He is everything a gentleman ought to be, and more. I cannot think of him without my heart swelling with joy. If only you could know such delight.”
“Perhaps those pleasures will be mine in time,” Elizabeth murmured, her fingers lifting to touch the ribbon in her hair.
Jane glanced at the ribbon. “Is that from your admirer? It is the fourth day, is it not?”
“Yes. I received four ribbons this morning, each in a slightly different shade of purple. The stanza spoke of satin and ribbons, but on the reverse side, he wrote that none could compare to the color of my eyes.”
“’Tis very romantic.” Jane smiled and stirred cream into her tea. “Do you have any notion who it may be? I cannot imagine Arnold Goulding or Joseph Long sending such thoughtful gifts.”
“Those two? They have not a romantic sensibility to share between them! My admirer has more gallantry in his little finger than either of them has in his whole frame.” If it is either…
Arnold Goulding and Joseph Long had been thorns in Elizabeth’s side since childhood—ever resentful of a girl besting them and sulking dreadfully in the wake of every defeat. I could never love either of them.
“Perhaps it is Mr. Wickham?” Jane’s innocent suggestion made Elizabeth’s breath catch.
“I suspected him when the first package arrived,” Elizabeth admitted, her words slow and deliberate as she sorted through her thoughts.
“But the gifts are too fine—too costly for a man reliant upon a militia commission. Besides, I have heard he is courting Mary King, who has lately inherited ten thousand pounds.”
“I am sorry.” Jane reached over and pressed Elizabeth’s hand. “I know you liked him.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I did like him, but my heart was never engaged. He is charming and handsome, and had he shown me serious attention, perhaps I might have come to love him. His defection has had no effect on me; it proves I never regarded him as more than a passing acquaintance.”
“I have yet to meet this Mr. Wickham.” Aunt Gardiner’s voice carried as she entered the breakfast room.
“Will I have the pleasure before we depart for London?” The Gardiners were to return to town on the first of January.
“From your letters, Lizzy, I understood that he and the officers are present at nearly every evening’s entertainment, yet I do not recall having been introduced. ”
“He has not attended any gatherings we have frequented since the beginning of the month.” Elizabeth realized the truth of this even as she spoke, and with a line of thought shadowing her forehead, she prodded her eggs and raised a bite to her lips.
“Well, then, let us hope circumstances allow us to make his acquaintance before we take our leave.” Aunt Gardiner busied herself at the sideboard.
“I am relieved to hear your heart remains untouched. Marriage to a penniless militia officer is hardly the romantic adventure Lydia and Kitty believe it to be.”
“Pray, give me more credit than you grant my sisters,” Elizabeth said with mock offense, though her easy smile robbed the words of any sharpness.
“Though I liked him, I always knew a match was impossible. And now he courts Miss King, a local heiress. Poor men must have something to live on, I suppose.”
“That is a mercenary point of view, or at least it casts Mr. Wickham in a mercenary light.” Aunt Gardiner took her seat and spread butter over a slice of toast. “Did he admire this young lady before she inherited?”
Elizabeth’s look grew uncertain. “I hardly know,” she replied. “Miss King has not been well-favored in the past. She is a pretty girl, but her looks are not at all fashionable. Her red hair and freckles see to that.”
“Then perhaps Mr. Wickham sees her only as a means to a comfortable future.” Aunt Gardiner set the toast on her plate. “Poor dear; I should like to think she is aware.”
Her appetite gone, Elizabeth pushed away from the table.
Her aunt’s words struck uncomfortably close to her own private misgivings she had entertained over the last few weeks.
Once confident in her discernment, she now found herself questioning it.
As her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy deepened, she recognized her earlier misjudgment—at least in part.
Could it be that the amiable gentleman with whom she had danced last evening might also be capable of destroying a man’s future?
As she had confessed to Jane, she could not make them both good. Or could she?
Her steps were brisk as she walked towards Meryton.
Elizabeth walked alone as she had on many occasions, grateful for the measure of freedom dwelling in the country afforded her.
The snow that had fallen the night before was mostly melted, though white still lingered at the bases of leafless trees and shrubs.
The ground was not overly muddy, but she was obliged to skirt puddles and damp patches.
As the market town’s main street came into view, she slowed her pace.