Chapter 15
I cannot leave Lucas Lodge until Mama decides to leave. But after the conversation with Mr Wickham, I ask Charlotte to allow me to rest in the library. She joins me there and stays for a little while, asking me how she can help me.
“I shall be well, Charlotte. I just need a little bit of quiet. I have been plagued by a headache for several days now.”
“You do look out of sorts, Eliza. I noticed you looked a bit ill even when we met yesterday. I saw you talking to Mr Wickham earlier. I hoped his company would cheer you. Most of the ladies in the room envied you,” she says with a teasing smile.
“It is only a persistent headache, and no company, as pleasant as it might be, can cure it. If it was not so late, I would have walked back home.”
“I would not allow you to do that. I shall bring you some herbal tea. Mama uses it all the time.”
“Thank you. I shall rest a little longer if you do not mind. I do not wish to ruin everybody’s enjoyment with my poor disposition.”
“I am glad everybody is enjoying the party. Including Jane and Mr Bingley. And Mr Collins,” Charlotte says meaningfully.
“I am very happy for Jane. As for Mr Collins, please do not tell him where I am. My head will break into pieces if I have to hear another of his speeches.”
“I am sorry to hear that. I noticed his peculiar attention to you.”
“In this case, dear Charlotte, peculiar means annoying. He is a decent enough man, but he is insufferable. He claims his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sent him to find a wife, and he is determined to choose one from Longbourn. I am sure you can imagine the rest. I tried to reject his attention as politely and gently as I could, as I did not wish to offend him, but my patience can only last so long.”
“Oh…” Charlotte says, and I am sure she understands me. After all, we have been close friends for more than ten years, and I trust her almost as much as I trust Jane or Aunt Gardiner.
“A single man in possession of a comfortable living must be in want of a wife,” Charlotte continues. “That he wishes to marry someone in your family, considering he will one day inherit Longbourn, I dare say is to his credit.”
“Certainly,” I reply. “But I cannot be that someone. I believe Mary admires him and would probably be happy with his attentions, but he has simply misdirected them.”
“Yes, Mama always says men must be pointed in the right direction or else they will get lost,” Charlotte replies, and I try to laugh. “Mr Bingley, however, seems quite decided.”
“We hope so. I am sure he and Jane would be a perfect match.”
I feel a tightness in my chest as I speak the words. Only three days have passed since I was convinced about another perfect match, yet I was proved wrong.
No; in fact, nothing has been proved. I shall have my proof in two days’ time, at the ball. Until then, I can only hope for some peace and quiet.
Charlotte fetches the herbal tea and leaves it with me, then returns to the party, for which I am grateful; I desire no company at all.
The tea is some help, and the silence allows me to put some order to my thoughts while I recollect Mr Wickham’s story. In truth, I do not care much about his past dealings with Mr Darcy. There must have been some misunderstandings between them that induced Mr Darcy to withhold the living.
If the late Mr Darcy had been so convinced of his godson’s worthiness, he would have expressed his wish in a clear way that allowed no arguments. If he had allowed the choice to be his son’s decision, he must have had his reasons. I am well aware that men often have disputes that make no sense to women or to other people in general. And I am still uncomfortable with Mr Wickham’s readiness to complain about his misfortune to women he has only just met. Furthermore, he seemed panicked by my suggestion to confront Mr Darcy, and that was clearly a reason to question the accuracy of his narration.
However, what I do care about and I do not doubt is Mr Wickham’s confirmation of Mr Darcy’s engagement. As an old acquaintance of the family, he knew about it like Mr Collins did — and he had only known Lady Catherine for a couple of years. It cannot be a mistake.
By the second cup of tea, I feel like a pathetic simpleton, sobbing over the loss of hopes and expectations that should never have existed. And I am determined to confront Mr Darcy about this as soon as he returns. If he does return. If he does not, no confrontation or conversation will be needed to know where I stand.
I do not leave the library till I am called for supper. Except for Jane, who asks me how I feel, nobody else shows any concern about my absence, which I find pleasing.
Mary is sitting near Mama and Mary King, while Lydia and Kitty sit near Mrs Forster, surrounded by several officers. Mr Wickham must have said something of great entertainment or levity, as several people — both women and men — are staring at him and laughing. Mr Collins is sitting next to Sir William, and next to them are Charlotte and Lady Lucas.
I am pleased to see Mr Bingley and Jane whispering to each other, paying no attention to anyone else, having eyes only for each other.
***
When I wake the next morning, I find that, strangely enough, I have managed to sleep better than before. I am not sure whether I am more at peace or if my hope has just surrendered to disappointment, but I feel my struggle is diminished.
It is the day prior to the ball, and we have no plans, so I take a walk after breakfast, then settle down to read something. I cannot gather myself to begin the new book recommended by Mr Darcy. I put it aside as an object that I know will pain me; I am not yet ready to face it.
Mr Bingley calls, and Jane speaks of little else afterwards, confessing to me that he has already asked her for the first set and the supper set tomorrow evening, about which she is thrilled. While listening to my sister, I cannot help but remember Mr Darcy’s subtle indication that he would ask me to dance, and my promise made in the Netherfield library that I should dance with him next time he asks me. That encounter in the middle of the night seems so long ago, although it has not even been two weeks.
My mother and my younger sisters speak only of the officers, much to Mr Collins’s undisguised displeasure. Papa asks questions to make sport of them, but I cannot feel amused. Quite the opposite; I am anxious and restless again.
In the afternoon, I am surprised when Mr Wickham, Mr Denny, and Mr Pratt are announced. The faces of Mama, Lydia, and Kitty show they are not surprised in the slightest, so I assume they were aware the officers would call. Shortly after their arrival, Mr Collins remembers Sir William has invited him for dinner, and he leaves us. I am relieved to be spared at least one reason for irritation.
The officers’ visit lasts more than an hour; they accept tea and even some brandy when Papa comes out of his book room to greet them. He stays with us for a while, and I assume he is diverted or simply has nothing better to do.
While everybody is engaged in conversation, John announces another caller, which causes a response of utter amazement from all of us, though probably for different reasons.
“Mr Darcy to see Mr Bennet,” John says, and my heart stops instantly. The conversation ceases, or maybe I cease to hear anything. I stand up, then retake my seat the next instant.
Papa rises to his feet too, to greet the guest. I stare at the door, determined to scrutinise his expression, but my heart is beating so wildly that I can hear it in my ears. I feel my hands trembling, and I clasp them together. Mr Darcy enters wearing a large smile, looking at me directly for a moment and saying cheerfully, “Good day to you. I am sorry to intrude. I just arrived from London, and I wished to…”
Then he stops, his countenance changes, a frown appears between his eyebrows, and I can see his posture tensing. From the direction of his gaze, I recognise the reason for his sudden alteration. Mr Wickham moves nervously on his chair but remains seated.
“Mr Darcy, what a pleasure to see you!” Papa says. “Please, come in. You have just arrived now? Have you not been to Netherfield yet?”
“Yes, I just arrived, and I only stopped for a moment to greet your family. I am sorry to disturb you. I am on my way to Netherfield.”
“You are not disturbing us at all,” Papa insists. “We were just talking to these officers — I do not believe you have met them before.”
“I am acquainted with them,” Mr Darcy says coldly, greeting them with an icy, “Gentlemen.”
The three officers all bow to him, and he moves his head slightly, his troubled countenance altering even more.
“I shall leave you now. I wish you all the best and hope to see you again tomorrow.”
“We are glad you are returned to Hertfordshire safely, Mr Darcy,” Papa says.
“I am pleased to be back,” he replies. Then his eyes meet mine and arrest them for another instant, but I am still struggling to breathe. Then he bows again and leaves.
“Well, that was a little strange, even for Mr Darcy,” Mama says. “I wonder why he came if he refused to stay for even a few minutes. But one cannot understand these rich people who believe themselves above everybody else.”
“Mr Darcy showed consideration for us,” Papa says. “He called here even though he must be tired and hungry after the journey. I find his gesture laudable.”
“It was certainly a surprising gesture of politeness from Darcy,” Mr Wickham says. “He rarely behaves in such a friendly manner with strangers.”
“Well, that must be because we are not strangers,” Papa says.
“Forgive me, I meant mere acquaintances,” Mr Wickham continues. “And I dare say he left in such a hurry because of me. My presence was certainly surprising and unpleasant to him. And I shall not deny that it was no different to me. If he had stayed, I would have left.”
“That would have been awful!” Lydia cries. “I hope Mr Darcy’s arrival will not make you distance yourself from us. And I hope you will come to the ball! We all want to dance with all of you!”
My youngest sister’s outburst increases my state of utter perturbation. Mr Darcy has returned — as he promised. His expression had displayed nothing but joy and friendliness, which I had not expected to see. Regardless of the nature of his affairs with his aunt, he had seemed content with the outcome and looked indeed pleased to be back. He had looked at me with the same intense gaze as he had worn during our private encounters. He had smiled at me in the same way. Are these the manners of a man who attempted to deceive a woman while he was engaged to another? I do not want to believe it, but I do not really know, and my doubts make the sharp claw manifest itself again in my chest. If only he had stayed a few more minutes. If only I had been able to read his expressions more clearly. If only I had asked him something before he charged out quicker than he charged in. If only…
His past dealings with Mr Wickham must be more significant and more disturbing than I assumed since the two men could not stand to be in the same room. But I have no interest in reflecting upon this subject at present. My only concern is to know what Mr Darcy is doing, what he is thinking regarding me, and what his intentions are. And I loathe Mr Wickham for causing him to leave.
“And Miss Elizabeth, I hope you will do me the honour of dancing a set with me tomorrow night,” I hear Mr Wickham ask, then Mr Denny and Mr Pratt ask the same question.
Before I know it, I find myself engaged to dance with the officers for the second, third, and fourth sets. I deliberately keep the first set and the supper set available, for a silly reason that I do not dare admit to myself. I already fear I shall face another disappointment, and I shall probably be without a partner for those two important sets. But perhaps the disappointment will be easier to bear if I am anticipating it.