Chapter 34
RUN MAD
Elizabeth’s ability to run fast was not a point of pride, but rather mere fact.
When Mr Gardiner had given Mr Bennet a scientific clock that had a hand that counted seconds as well as minutes, the first thing Mr Bennet had done was to time how fast Elizabeth could run a mile.
‘Seven minutes and twelve seconds’, he had boasted proudly to anyone who would listen to him; Elizabeth privately believed she could now do much better, perhaps even six minutes.
Or maybe even five, with such a desire for escape to hasten my steps.
When she stumbled into her bedchamber, she sat on her bed, awaiting the release of her pain and misery in the form of sobs.
Alas such relief was denied her; she felt instead numb, perhaps even angry, that this humiliation should be heaped upon her.
Her tears, when at last they came, were tears of indignation, and only served to fuel her anger.
Hearing her mother and sisters return from church made her rise and go to wash her face to restore herself to some semblance of dignity. One of the maids appeared while she did so and told her that her father and mother wished to speak to her in Mr Bennet’s study.
She entered the room only minutes later, seeing Mrs Bennet twisting a handkerchief in her lap while her father sat silently beside her. “You wished to see me?”
“Sit,” said Mr Bennet, gesturing at the chair next to her mother. “Your mother tells me that church was…uncomfortable.”
“No one will speak to us,” said Mrs Bennet tremulously. “And that idiotic parson we are kin to thought it reasonable to chastise Elizabeth from the pulpit!”
Mr Bennet looked over his spectacles at her. “Your family suffers with you, Elizabeth, as I am sure you already know. Have we had enough unhappiness yet? Or will you give us more?”
She did not reply.
“Sir James,” said Mrs Bennet, “is too good for you! You must accept him!”
Elizabeth sighed. “I just…I need some time to accustom myself to—”
“To what?” Mrs Bennet nearly shrieked. “To being a lady of position and wealth?”
“To marrying a man I had not thought…I had not thought of in that way.”
“Well, Miss Lizzy, who do you think of in that way? Because I begin to think that you will never marry anyone!” Mrs Bennet shot her a fierce glare.
Elizabeth sent her father an imploring look, but he proved no help.
“Your entire family suffers with you, Elizabeth. You alone may end this torment for us all.”
“It is not me who is to blame! Someone made up vile gossip about me—”
“It does not signify who is to blame and not!” Mr Bennet thundered, and the rare display of temper stopped her for a moment.
“It matters to me,” she said firmly. “I do not wish simply to marry to cover the shame. I wish for my name to be cleared.”
“I have always said she is no quicker than her sisters,” Mrs Bennet said. “And this just proves it.”
“You had the right of things all along, my dear,” said Mr Bennet, rather cruelly in his daughter’s opinion.
“And shall we allow such silliness to persist?” Mrs Bennet enquired of him.
“I daresay she thinks Mr Darcy may ride in on a white horse to save her,” said Mr Bennet, and the note of satire in his voice was unmistakable.
“Mr Darcy!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed and turned in her chair so that her daughter might feel the full weight of her incredulity. “What has he to do with anything?”
“Never mind that,” said Elizabeth hurriedly, rising to her feet. “If you will both excuse me?”
“You may go. Tell Hill the door is closed to everyone; the Bennets are not receiving today,” said her father. “Tomorrow, Elizabeth, my patience with you will end. I shall send word to Sir James first thing in the morning, telling him we must see him at the earliest time of his convenience.”
“Do it now!” Mrs Bennet cried out tremulously. “For all we know, he is off even now meeting someone else to propose to!”
“We must act with utmost propriety, Mrs Bennet,” he scolded.
“And that includes allowing our servants, and those at Ashworth, to enjoy the Sabbath and not be running notes all over the countryside for the sake of our errant daughter. First thing in the morning, Elizabeth, and I do not doubt Sir James will be here before noon.”
So said, he dismissed her from his study.
Elizabeth was well pleased to retire early after a long, difficult, and emotional Sunday. She had gone to her bedchamber after her mother and father had spoken to her, only to have Mrs Hill come and get her, telling her that her mother thought ‘she ought to see the distress she has caused us all’.
She then sat silently in the drawing room while her mother and Jane debated the likelihood that Bingley would wish to be released from their engagement.
Then—after Jane and her mother had concluded that it would be better to release him than it would be to suffer the shame of being thrown over—Elizabeth watched in despair as Jane composed a letter to him, seeking to do just that and weeping all the while.
Mrs Bennet of course had much to say about Jane’s loss of such a man as Bingley, and Elizabeth felt it keenly.
The conversation and subsequent letter-writing made Elizabeth almost wish for Jane’s anger, but in true Jane fashion, she could not think ill of her sister, and supported her decision, all the while weeping over the loss, once again, of Bingley.
Then, after Jane had departed to go and cry in her and Elizabeth’s chamber, their youngest sisters loudly bemoaned the impact of Elizabeth’s disgrace on their own reputations and prospects, with Mary also bringing forth several scriptural examples of scorned women and their fates.
After that, Elizabeth joined Jane in their bedchamber for a joint session of misery for which neither could offer the other much consolation.
It was, altogether, the bleakest day that Elizabeth could ever recall in the entirety of her existence.
Elizabeth’s weeping and distress made it easy for her to fall asleep with the sun remaining in the sky; however, such a sleep could not last, and she woke well before dawn on Monday morning, and spent miserable hours staring at her ceiling.
After a seemingly interminable night, she finally saw the sky beginning to lighten with the dawn.
Relieved to escape her bed, she dressed and left the house, hoping to find solace in some measure.
The woods held all the charm of a new morning: glistening dew, birdsong, and the particular clean scent of morning; alas, it did not provide her the comfort she so longed for.
She would tell Sir James today that she would marry him. There was no other choice for her.
Becoming Lady Shaw would hardly be a punishment.
She would become wife to a wealthy and amiable man whom she liked.
Instead of being endlessly chastised and castigated, she would be congratulated and flattered, even if the taste of it would be a bit sour.
How was she to receive congratulations from the same people who even now were painting her as a harlot?
People who were today delighting in sharing lies about her.
Alas the truth would thus never be known. She had not allowed him liberties. He had not torn her gown. And she was in love with Mr Darcy.
She would be required to stand in a church before God and all her family, vowing to love and honour Sir James, with her mind filled with another man. She would kiss Sir James while remembering Mr Darcy’s kisses, and she would feel his touch while longing for Mr Darcy’s.
But it could not be. She loved him too much to entrench him in her shame, and in any case, he was hardly offering himself for it.
She walked along, alternately tearful and resolute.
It was during one of the tearful interludes that she stumbled over a root she did not see and decided she must take some rest before returning home.
A fallen log was nearby, and on it she sat, to try and regain her equanimity, breathing deeply, and wiping away her tears.
Removing her handkerchief from her face, she nearly fainted in shock when, as she opened her eyes, Mr Darcy was before her.
So silently had he approached that for a moment she wondered if she dreamt him.
“May I join you?”
She nodded, feeling numb.
Mr Darcy said nothing as he sat, his gaze on the ground by his feet. With no preamble he asked, “Did he…did he force himself on you?”
“No, nothing of that sort. In fact, it was nothing at all.”
He stared off into the distance and did not reply.
“My father is forcing me to accept him,” she said quietly.
Mr Darcy nodded soberly. “I am not surprised. The damage to your reputation, to your family name, would be too great otherwise. You must marry.”
Tears again threatened, and Elizabeth turned her head so Mr Darcy would not see what agony his words provoked. Is there any greater pain than having the man you love encourage you to marry another?
“But it does not follow that you must marry him. You might marry me instead.”
Elation was quick but bittersweet, the joy that he wanted to marry her overridden by the reality that she could not accept. She could not stain him with her problems. It was too selfish. “I cannot.”
“You can.”
“It would only make matters worse. They would think I was going from one man to the next in hopes of securing someone.”
“I suppose you will just need to fall in love with me, then.” He reached out to take her hand, and she allowed it, revelling in the comfort it gave her.
It was on the tip of her tongue to confess her love to him, to tell him how she felt, but she stopped herself. There was no good to come of that. She could not have him; better that he not know what he had lost.
“No matter what, the gossip will follow me and will likely get worse. The infamous Elizabeth Bennet, a nothing of a nobody from nowhere who had her bodice ripped up by one man and married another the next day.”
“Elizabeth, I do not care about tattle spread round Hertfordshire. I am in love with you, and I have wished to marry you for a very long time. Would to God that I had proposed in Kent! We would be married by now, and none of this would have happened!”
The notion brought a smile to her lips. “Did you want to propose to me in Kent?”
He ground the toe of his boot into the earth beneath him. “I had planned to propose to you that last night at Rosings.”
“At Rosings?”
“I thought I would ask you to walk outside with me in the garden. You might remember I invited you to take the air, but you did not wish it.” He chuckled. “Likely because you were infuriated with me.”
“Likely so,” she said with a little laugh. “It might have been a mercy, in any case. I cannot imagine your aunt would take kindly to you becoming betrothed to any other woman but her daughter right under her nose.”
He flashed a smile. “I cannot imagine what I was thinking in that quarter. I suppose a man in love hardly thinks clearly. I wished only to have you as my own, then and even more so now.”
“But you see that only proves my point.” She gave his hand a squeeze and then let it go.
“And what point is that?”
“You are not thinking clearly even now,” she said. “What seems of no consequence now, in retrospect shall be seen as foolhardy. The imprudence of our match will weigh upon you.”
With a sigh that sounded very impatient, he took her face in his hands. “I”—he kissed her— “do”—another kiss—“not”—a third kiss—“care.” He gave her one final kiss and dropped his hands. “Not even a little bit.”
“But I do care,” she said quietly, rising to her feet.
He rose beside her.
“I could not bear if you came to regret me. I cannot be the wife you married from beneath a cloud of scandal. I am sorry.”
So saying, she turned and very nearly ran back to Longbourn. He did not pursue her.