Farmer’s Rest #2
“And then… then… well, I do not actually know if I should be proud or shamed, but I panicked. I, who pride myself on self-reliance and rationality, just panicked. I had every person I ever met shouting instructions to me, so I finally turned and ran.”
All three of her companions stared, mouths slightly ajar in surprise and sympathy.
“Two abominable proposals in four months. That may be some sort of record,” Mr Wythe finally said.
Everyone chuckled, and the tension in the room released.
Mrs Wythe asked, “Did you say anything to the so-called gentleman?”
Elizabeth coloured deeply and lowered her gaze to her hands. “Not a word. That is the shameful part. I—”
She exhaled slowly. “I have a bit of a temper, and in the first rejection, the other so-called gentleman refused to take no for an answer. The two gentlemen could be compared in relative stature as a worm and a hawk, and I… well… I was deathly afraid of what I would say to the hawk if he provoked me. I fear… well, as like as not, it would have been very unpleasant.”
All three nodded, deeming 'very unpleasant' the correct response to such an abominable proposal.
“My mother tried to force my acceptance of the first proposal from the worm. You can imagine her reaction to the hawk. I was but six weeks from my majority, where I would have relative freedom. It might be the relative freedom to be poor as a rat, but I just could not allow the biggest choice in my life to be dictated by someone else. There is a saying: Marry in haste, repent at leisure. I prefer not to repent at all.”
Mrs Wythe leaned forward and took her hands again. “When is your birthday, dear?”
“Next week.”
“Let us remove the ‘poor as a rat’ possibility. So long as you are willing to enter the trades, we will happily assist you,” Mr Wythe said.
“I know any number of businessmen who would snatch you up in a heartbeat. You can live perfectly comfortably on your own, or better yet with us, until you find a husband somewhere between the two extremes—perhaps a rabbit or gazelle?”
Everyone laughed, and Elizabeth continued.
“All this time, I have been reconsidering the hawk. Logistikon has for the past several weeks been annoyingly persistent. It says that perhaps the gentleman is shy, or uncomfortable in crowds, or so in love with me he becomes tongue-tied. Thumos is less sanguine about those ideas but does seem to be impressed that he is the handsomest man I have ever seen, while Epithumetikon asserts that a handsome gentleman may not be the worst thing in the world. I will never be comfortable with any decision until I learn more about him.”
“Do you wish to share the gentleman’s identity? You know it is not necessary.”
Elizabeth offered the last tiny little bit of her story she had held back.
“I have been reluctant to tell anyone, though I hope you do not believe it is due to lack of trust.”
“That is entirely sensible. A lady cannot be too careful with her reputation.”
Elizabeth laughed darkly. “I agree. My sister Mary prattles on about that often, though she is not entirely wrong. She says that ‘loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful.’ I hope you do not feel I mistrust you?”
“Of course not. You are guarding your heart and your life. Frankly, I would be disappointed if you had told us earlier. It would show less sense than we expect from you.”
Elizabeth smiled at Mrs Wythe, a woman she would introduce to her Aunt Gardiner at the earliest opportunity, but then grew pensive, sighed, and began.
“You may well know the man. It is Mr Darcy of Pemberley.”
Mr Wythe drew a sharp breath, while Mrs Wythe and Margaret merely stared.
“That explains some of your odd conversations I overheard in Kympton,” Mrs Wythe replied.
“Yes, ma’am. I was trying to learn more about him—trying to feed Logistikon.”
Mr Wythe said, “I do not know the gentleman, but I do know of him. He runs more cattle than sheep and has a different broker for his wool. He is reputed to be a very honest man, a fair master, affable to the poor, but somewhat aloof and standoffish. I could find out more if you like, but not right away.”
“I appreciate the offer but prefer to continue on my own. Sooner or later, I must face him. I imagine the proposal has expired by now, but I owe him a straight answer, and I owe it to myself to understand what I have either avoided or squandered.”
“You seem to discount the possibility of acceptance, Lizzy?”
“Do you really believe a man who proposed marriage to a woman who would not answer and hid for several months, would not have retracted the offer, Margie?”
“Ho-Ho-Ho!” Mr Wythe laughed.
Elizabeth stared in consternation, while the gentleman laughed some more.
He glanced at his wife. “You do not understand an engaged heart yet. My Dorothy accepted my first proposal, but had she denied me, it would only have delayed the inevitable. I suspect that if your lunkhead is anything akin to a man truly in love, that two months or two years would only inconvenience him. I believe the offer to still be open.”
Elizabeth just stared, but the gentleman had not finished.
“Think on this. Suppose I snap my fingers, and you are Mrs Darcy. What would happen when you went to Town to join the first circles?”
Elizabeth tried to picture it. For several minutes she considered the prospect, her face falling with every passing moment.
“I have considered that, though not deeply. I imagine it might be difficult. Every matchmaker and daughter in the first circles will assume I compromised him, or some such nonsense. Some will accept me, but many will disparage me, either to my face or behind my back.”
Mr Wythe leaned forward again, and said carefully, “Let us give Logistikon free rein. Presume that instead of a hawk, your Mr Darcy is more akin to a tasty hare. All those matchmakers must have been circling like vultures for years. Might such a man be not quite so acquainted with Thumos as a person with a more typical upbringing?”
Elizabeth thought about it for some time before finally nodding.
Very gently, the father said, “And is it even remotely possible that such a man, under the unanticipated thrall of Thumos or Eros or whatever you want to call his particular malady, might feel it his duty to acquaint you with the snake pit he proposes to drag you into?”
Elizabeth gasped at the notion, but then decided she should take it seriously. She thought furiously, while Mr Wythe took out his pipe and began tamping down the tobacco, and the ladies called for more tea.
After some time, Mr Wythe asked, “Any thoughts?”
“Only that you should call me Lizzy after all this.”
“It will be our privilege.”
“And… and… well… Logistikon suggests the slim possibility that he was in earnest, but simply terrible at proposals. It is not something that can be taught well, nor practised.”
Everyone laughed heartily and they moved on to lighter topics for the rest of the evening.
After more tea and biscuits, they started preparing for their beds.
Mr Wythe said, “You are aware, Lizzy, that Pemberley is but thirty miles to the east. We could stop there if you like.”
Elizabeth gasped, started. “Yes, that will work. I shall just speak with the housekeeper and say, ‘Good day, I am Elizabeth Bennet. Your master proposed to me, and I refused to answer, but if you do not mind, I would stay a while so I can interrogate you.’ That will work!”
With a laugh, they all retired. Lizzy knew there was one estate in Derbyshire where she would not be going, but after all this thought and discussion, she thought she might just let her twenty-first birthday elapse, then return to Longbourn and see if he eventually appeared.
Yes, that would work