Chapter 30
The day that Darcy took Lydia away, Elizabeth spent at home, utterly wretched from the want of sleep and the sharp anxiety of not knowing—and there were a great many things she did not know.
Had Lydia remembered to give Darcy her letter?
Had he read it? Been pleased by it? Indifferent to it?
Outraged by it? Had her sister’s dreadful behaviour persuaded him once and for all against a connexion to her family? Had hers?
Was it too late?
She repeated to herself incessantly the things Mr Hartham had told her Darcy said.
That she deserved to be worshipped. That he would never recover from her rejection.
That he would adore her for all her days.
She raised a hand to touch the scar on her right temple, gained when a tug of war with Kitty over a blanket ended with her sister letting go, and Elizabeth rebounding across the bed into the corner of the nearby dresser.
Such a silly, childhood accident; such an insignificant scar, so easy to conceal. She was amazed he had noticed it.
Hardly surprising, given the amount of time he spends staring at you.
She exhaled in wonder. She had always thought Darcy stared in disapproval. Even after his proposal in Kent, she had never considered quite how soon after they met he had begun to admire her. But he had been staring at her almost since the beginning of their acquaintance.
“Oh, Darcy!” she whispered. “What a fool I have been!”
She knew not for how long she thought about him, nor that she had fallen asleep doing so, until her aunt’s entrance into the parlour with all four of her children and little Delphine Millhouse woke her from a doze. She sat up, bleary-eyed and confused by the sudden commotion.
“I am sorry, Lizzy. I did not know you were dozing.” Mrs Gardiner settled herself next to Elizabeth on the chaise longue and peered at her closely. “Are you merely tired, or are you unwell?”
“Perhaps both. I am exhausted after last night. And sick with guilt about Lydia.”
Her aunt nodded. “You are not alone in that. Your uncle and I promised your father we would keep an eye on her, and she managed to almost disgrace herself without us ever suspecting.” Her youngest child toddled over and held out his hand for the toy she was holding before walking away to join his brother and sisters on the rug.
Mrs Gardiner smiled fondly, if a little ruefully, at them all.
“I love them dearly, but they do take up a lot of my attention. It has made me a rather terrible chaperon all round, really, has it not?” She turned to regard Elizabeth with an expressive look.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“This business with Mr Hartham. I thought you had told him your answer was no. I have been exceedingly lax in not confirming it.”
“I have told him no.”
“I am relieved to hear it. Regrettably, you did not do so quickly enough to prevent your mother from hearing a rumour that you are to marry.”
“What?” Elizabeth exclaimed, her heart pounding. “How in heavens has Mama heard about it?”
Mrs Gardiner shook her head. “I could not tell you. She certainly did not hear it from me. But I have received a letter from her this morning demanding that I write to her immediately to confirm the truth of it and provide her with a full account of her future son-in-law’s character and situation.
” She withdrew a letter from her pocket and handed it over to Elizabeth.
It was addressed to “Lizzy” in Mrs Bennet’s distinctive, swirling hand.
“This was enclosed. I imagine it contains much the same line of interrogation. It seems, my dear, that your whole family—and I daresay, soon enough, the whole of Meryton—thinks you are engaged to Mr Hartham.”
“Oh no!” Elizabeth groaned. Then, with more feeling, “Oh no!”
“What is the matter?” her aunt asked, frowning in concern at her change of tone.
“Just…nothing,” she said after a moment of hesitation, but it was a lie.
Everything was the matter. Because Darcy was going to Longbourn, and her family were all going to be talking about this.
There was no world in which her mother would not boast of her daughter’s accomplishment to the man who had thought himself so above them all that he had refused to so much as dance with her.
She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that he would have her letter to assure him of the truth, until a horrible thought occurred to her.
Had she explicitly written that she was not engaged to Mr Hartham?
I must have! But with a dreadful wave of certainty, she comprehended that she had not.
She had told him her heart was in his hands; she had neglected to mention that she was at liberty to give it, or that he was free to claim it.
“Lydia will correct them, surely?”
Mrs Gardiner pursed her lips. “Mayhap, if she stops thinking about herself for long enough to remember. But in any case, Lydia’s word is not likely to count for very much for the foreseeable future. You must reply to your mother at once. Make sure she and your father know it is a misunderstanding.”
Elizabeth nodded her agreement, though she knew a letter would not reach Longbourn before Mr Darcy did.
She would have to wait for him to return to Brighton and tell him herself that she was still unattached—and hope that, in the meantime, he did not decide that ‘adoring her for all of her days’ was becoming a less appealing prospect by the moment.
The day after Lydia left Brighton, Elizabeth received a visitor. She was at no loss to understand the reason for Lady Preston’s journey and was sorry that she had taken the trouble of coming all the way across town, for it would do no good; she would not be prevailed upon to change her mind.
“I shall not insult you with prevarication, Miss Bennet,” her ladyship began once they were seated together, just the two of them, in Mrs Millhouse’s private parlour. “My nephew has informed me that you have refused his offer of marriage.”
It was not a question, but Elizabeth inclined her head in acknowledgement, nonetheless.
“You are aware, I suppose, of the extent of the fortune he is set to inherit?”
“I am not, as it happens.”
“Four thousand a year. In addition to his own assets.” Lady Preston held Elizabeth’s gaze as though anticipating a pleased response.
Elizabeth gave her a conciliatory smile. “That will make whomever he marries very comfortable, I am sure. But it will not be me.”
Her ladyship pursed her lips. “That is as Benedict said, but I did not wish to believe you could be so reckless.”
“Did my mother send you to speak to me by any chance?” Seeing that her quip had not been received as lightly as it had been meant, Elizabeth added quickly, “I recognise what Mr Hartham was offering me, madam.” Do you?
she wondered. “And I am not ungrateful that he thought me a worthy partner—or that you evidently approved of the match. But, much though I care for him, I do not love him.”
Lady Preston’s face twisted as though Elizabeth had said something offensive.
“And I do love somebody else,” she added. “Very dearly.”
“You are engaged to another man?”
“Well, no.” When Lady Preston continued to glare at her querulously, she stammered, “I…we…he did propose. But I said no. Because at the time I thought…”
“He was poor?”
“No!” Elizabeth said with a huff of laughter. “No, I…misunderstood him.”
“You mean you disliked him. He must have been truly objectionable if he was rich and you still disliked him.”
The violence with which Elizabeth’s heart baulked at allowing any such accusation made her wonder: Had she ever truly disliked Darcy?
Or was it merely that he pricked at every nerve in her body, making her feel constantly raw and exposed in his presence?
“I thought there were, how can I put this…defects in his character. But I have since realised he is perfect the way he is.”
“I doubt that very much, but if that is what you believe, why have you still not accepted him? Has he changed his mind?”
“No,” Elizabeth said with no little exasperation. “But thanks to a certain gentleman’s presumptuous announcement, he thinks I am engaged to your nephew!”
Lady Preston’s brows drew together in consternation, but she did not have the opportunity to respond before the door opened and the housekeeper entered. She had scarcely begun announcing another caller when Mr Hartham barged past her into the room.
“Aunt, what on earth do you think you are about, hounding Miss Bennet in this manner? This is not to be borne!”
Her ladyship gave him a prim look that made Elizabeth want to laugh despite her frustration.
“I was merely ensuring that she had all the particulars. She could hardly be expected to make a sensible decision without them. And I was right to do so, for you had not even informed her what your income will be.”
Mr Hartham muttered something that sounded very uncharitable under his breath and came to kneel before Elizabeth, his countenance all concern. “Miss Bennet, I cannot apologise enough. This is the most outrageous imposition.”
She raised an eyebrow. “More outrageous than your proposal?”
He paled and glanced nervously at his aunt.
“Get off the floor, Nephew,” Lady Preston snapped impatiently. “I do not require you to apologise for me. If I was sorry, I would say so myself. I am, however, satisfied that Miss Bennet is acting out of neither ignorance nor recklessness. She knows her mind, and all is settled.”
“Not quite all,” Elizabeth said wistfully.
Mr Hartham stood up but stayed close by, looking worriedly between her and his aunt. “No?”
“It seems,” Lady Preston said, altogether too gleefully, “that the man with whom Miss Bennet is in love is under the impression that she is engaged to you.”
“Well, she was, for a bit,” he said with a sheepish grin that fell away when his aunt sighed and shook her head. He looked at Elizabeth in confusion. “Unless I misunderstood…?”