Two Sisters #2
“Well, he made his apologies, apparently at length and in detail, so the sister forgave him entirely. She even thanked him in the end. She decided to seek a fully-grown man instead of a wet behind the ears pup like Bingley, who could be swayed by a few words of caution and that polecat of a sister of his—”
Breton stopped, blushed, and stammered, “Pardon my language.”
Elizabeth laughed gaily. “Which language was that? I have no idea what a polecat is, but if it is a nasty creature, it was an apt analogy.”
“Well, apparently the elder sister was by then thick as thieves with Darcy’s cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh, so all is well.
They will attend the season together. The maid has been promoted to lady’s maid for Miss de Bourgh, and Darcy is trying to discover where the second sister is, so he can try to make things right with her as well. ”
Elizabeth gasped, though why she should be surprised that Fortuna was playing with her life was quite beyond her at that point. She supposed it made some sense that if she left Hunsford, and he wanted to find her, he would start at Longbourn.
Breton, not quite hearing her gasp, continued, “When last I heard from him, he was staying with the elder sister’s family, along with his cousin Anne, somewhere in Hertfordshire.
Apparently, the worm manoeuvre was successful.
I believe you know Miss de Bourgh. Darcy will bring my potential bride, Ellen Taylor, next time he comes to Pemberley. ”
It was now fully confirmed. The world had gone utterly and completely amok.
If Mr Breton was correct, Mr Darcy was sleeping in the guest room lately occupied by Mr Collins, which was apparently reserved for gentlemen whose proposals she rejected, while she slept in a chamber somewhere in the family wing of his estate. It could not be any stranger.
“The first sister, Mr Breton… the younger,” she asked somewhat shyly. “What offence was he trying to make up for?”
Breton shook his head. “He would not say it explicitly. He just said he had dug himself a hole the size of Pemberley and hoped he could eventually dig himself out. I have to say, he sounded determined, but not overly optimistic for a speedy resolution. He anticipated months or years of work.”
Lady Matlock leaned forward curiously. “You never told me how you know Darcy, Elizabeth. Is it possible you know these sisters? Perhaps we can help my nephew together. He trusts you implicitly, so I am surprised he is not here asking for your help.”
Trembling, Elizabeth whispered, “He does not know I am here. He does not have the faintest idea where I am right now.”
She glanced over at the Wythes, all of whom were studiously betraying no clue to their thoughts, nor adding anything to the conversation without her permission.
Everyone in the room was staring at Elizabeth, and she found herself more nervous than she had been when Georgiana appointed her as temporary mistress of Pemberley—by a wide margin.
Everyone seemed to be patiently waiting for her to say something. Why wouldn’t they—she was the mistress.
Finally, Elizabeth took a deep breath, blew it out and spoke.
“I imagine you have all worked it out by now. I am the First Sister. He seems to be sleeping along the corridor from my room at my father’s estate in Hertfordshire, and Anne de Bourgh is sleeping in my bed. I can explain that hole you described, if you are curious.”
“Pins and needles.”
Elizabeth blew out a big breath and tried to see if she could get through it with neither tears nor rage, which seemed unlikely.
“Mr Darcy proposed to me in Hunsford six weeks ago. At the time, I quite despised him in general, for various reasons, not all of which turned out to be true. He made a truly dreadfully awful proposal! It was my second truly dreadfully awful proposal in five months. I suppose they teach at Eaton or Cambridge that the fashion was to insult and disparage your intended to show your steadiness. He did this just three hours after your son, Lady Matlock, boasted—quite arrogantly I might add—that Mr Darcy separated Mr Bingley from a fortune hunter, and claimed it as… what did he call it… ‘the honour of my cousin’s triumph.’”
Everyone gasped, as she continued, “Said fortune hunter was—as you have no doubt surmised—my elder sister, Jane.”
Everyone except the Wythes gasped again.
Elizabeth continued woodenly.
“My mother tried to force me to accept the first god-awful proposal. The man is my father’s heir presumptive, but the most ridiculous man alive… well, perhaps second most at any rate.”
She paused, feeling tears at the corner of her eyes before continuing.
“Only my father’s support saved me, and his ability to withstand an assault from Mr Darcy is suspect at best. I…
I… Well… I panicked! I ran from the room without a single word, went to Hunsford Village and took the first coach that left with nothing but the clothes on my back.
I have been running ever since. I was running from him, running from myself, running from my mercenary mother, running from the calendar, running from everything.
I turn one and twenty in three days, and I will not be forced into anything by anybody. ”
Nobody said anything for the longest time, as everyone pieced the story together with growing horror and confusion.
Finally, Georgiana screwed up her courage and tried to crack the silence. “If you are hiding from my brother, Lizzy, you might not have picked the best place to do it,” and the room erupted in tension-relieving laughter for a moment.
Lady Matlock sat beside Elizabeth, put an arm around the younger lady’s shoulders, and pulled her into an embrace. Elizabeth was shaking, very close to tears, though whether from sadness, confusion, or rage she could hardly say.
“You have been through a difficult time, my dear. That is quite a story.”
Mr Wythe spoke up. “She told us a week ago, my lady. She has been trying to understand your nephew for some time.”
Elizabeth drew comfort from the elder woman's sympathy.
Indeed, she felt the luckiest woman in the world.
She had demonstrated her competence by acting as mistress of an estate she had never set foot in, but she had also demonstrated that she was simply lucky.
Entirely by chance she had found the Wythes, Lady Matlock, and Mr Breton.
She might even be willing to help Mr Darcy fill in that hole he seemed to be in, as his sins did not seem so awfully terrible at the moment.
With a deep sigh, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, until Mr Breton handed her a handkerchief.
Straightening, she said, “Thank you… all of you.”
Everyone smiled, nodded, and disclaimed any need for thanks.
Feeling quite bold, and still in Lady Matlock’s embrace, she reached up to kiss the lady on the cheek.
“My lady, Georgiana, Mr Breton; pray, tell me about Mr Darcy.”