Chapter Eleven #3
Lady Rebecca made a droll face at her. “Let us not pretend with one another! You must suspect what I do, that my brother has shown your sister a marked preference.”
“There is no chance of him being secretly betrothed, is there?”
“He would find the very notion of a secret engagement idiotic; such a thing would never occur to him. If he loved a woman my family disapproved of, he would tell them precisely how little that influenced his own happiness, and in such language as I ought not describe to you.”
Marianne frowned. “I had always thought the concept to be a romantic one… until lately; now I think them the cruelest thing in the world.”
“I suppose that must be the common thread between Mr. Willoughby, Edward, and even Charles. None of them had the temerity to defend the women they loved before their overbearing relations.” Lady Rebecca lapsed into a moment of contemplative silence, and then with a sly smile she asked, “But what of Lizzy – Miss Elizabeth Bennet? She gave my cousin a sound lashing – has she some heartbreak that fuels her ire?”
“No, she has been luckier than the three of us. She fancied Mr. Wickham, for a time, but she was relieved at being unaffected by his pursuit of another local girl”
“A happy escape for her! I should hate for any young lady to lament for such a villain,” Lady Rebecca cried.
“I suppose he has had his punishment,” Marianne said with a sigh.
“My brother told me that he confided further in your sister at the ball, but if she did not disclose all of Wickham’s misdeeds to you, perhaps I ought not speak of them, either,” Lady Rebecca mused.
“He has been taken to London to await the assizes, and cannot be a danger to anybody. Well, I am glad Richard confided in your sister, eh? And I suppose it is a fine thing your other cousin is not in the throes of heartbreak.”
Curiosity and caution warred in Marianne’s mind; she wished to know what else the colonel had told her sister of Mr. Wickham, and yet she supposed Elinor may have thought it too dreadful to repeat.
But Marianne did begin to think it was a fine thing that the colonel had shown her sister such a preference.
“I do not share my Bennet cousins’ enthusiasm for all the officers, though perhaps Colonel Brandon might do for Lizzy…
and it would serve Edward right if Elinor should fancy your brother. ”
“He is the very best of men,” Lady Rebecca said brightly.
“He and Phillip – the viscount – were the kindest to me when I was a child. My late brother Peter and my elder sister Norah were beastly, but Richard was always my great defender. Phillip is all patience and forgiveness, but I know he thinks me very wicked. Richard is my compatriot in impudence and mischief, which makes life very merry, you know.”
“What sort of mischief?”
“The mostly harmless variety, I assure you,” Lady Rebecca laughed.
“He is no rake, but he enjoys the sort of teasing I have heard attributed to your cousin Miss Elizabeth, that particular style of needling a person toward what is right, and having a good laugh all the while. We intend to work such mischief upon Charles, while we are in Hertfordshire.”
Marianne had nothing good to say of Mr. Bingley, though she did not wish to offend her friend.
She would heed Elizabeth’s advice, for she could not resent the gentleman if Jane no longer desired his addresses, anyhow – but Marianne still believed him a great fool.
If Lady Rebecca and the colonel wished to improve him, it could be nothing to Jane, nor any of her relations, and Marianne rather doubted they should have any great success.
***
When their callers departed, Elinor suggested to Marianne that they reply to their cousins' letter.
She sat at a little desk by the window, while Marianne cuddled against Mary on the bed they shared.
“I hardly think we have anything of note to tell our cousins,” Marianne said, pulling a blanket around herself. Mary laughed.
“Surely you cannot be serious,” Elinor cried. “I daresay Mr. Darcy will hear an account of the Twelfth Night ball from his cousins – do you not wish me to convey your version of events before our cousins hear it from him?”
“I cannot imagine Lizzy on friendly terms with Mr. Darcy,” Mary said with a shake of her head. “It was right of him to speak honestly with Jane, of course, but I have never known Lizzy to despise anybody so passionately!”
Marianne grinned. “So perhaps Lizzy will not believe him, when he tells her of my tantrum! Oh, I suppose I am a little ashamed of myself – I was not, until Uncle Thomas found it so funny, and Aunt Fanny declared the cook shall make my favorite ragout. Then I began to wonder if I had gone too far.”
Mary shook her head, but betrayed herself with a smile; Marianne’s levity was good for her.
Elinor was far from proud of her sister’s actions, and doubted they would bring Jane any comfort – she decided not to write of it, but she felt obliged to give a brief summary of what had occurred with the Lucases, for she doubted her aunt would give a rational account of the incident.
As Marianne began to prod Mary for details of what Mr. Bingley had spoken to her and Kitty about, Elinor penned a few lines in praise of Lady Rebecca and the colonel.
Elinor was pleased that the former had taken an interest in befriending Marianne; the colonel had a great deal of playful praise for his sister, when Elinor had conversed with him.
Elinor smiled at the recollection of their lively conversation in the garden, and began to twirl the pen in her fingers as she thought of a jest he had made about some singularly territorial geese they encountered. She startled when her sister bounded up to her and peered down at the page.
“Oho! I knew you must be smiling because you were writing about the colonel!”
“I enjoyed our conversation, Marianne, as you enjoyed yours with Lady Rebecca. Friendship ought to make one smile,” Elinor said evenly.
“What did you talk about?”
“Only what is generally discussed at the opening of an acquaintance – taste in reading and in music, and other interests and pursuits, our home counties, our friends and relations. What did you and Lady Rebecca speak of?”
Marianne grinned devilishly. “Our friends and relations.”
Elinor suspected she knew what her sister was about. “I hope you will not add to Mamma’s speculation. Until this morning, I had thought to wait for Edward….” Elinor stopped herself from saying more and glanced in Mary’s direction.
Mary came to stand beside them. “Marianne told me your heart is broken! Is it not a fine thing that the colonel has singled you out?”
Elinor let out a slow, shaky breath. She was not cross that Marianne had told their cousin of her troubles, but she knew herself to be unable to speak about it.
There scarcely seemed to be any words suited to express what she felt.
“It is not that simple. I cared very deeply for Edward, and it pained me not only that he pledged himself to another, but that it should be a lady so unworthy of such a fine man. It is difficult to at once respect his integrity, and at the same time cherish a hope that he truly means to end his engagement. Still, I had meant to wait… I cannot think why he would tell Jane I rejected him.”
“Lady Rebecca thinks he means to woo Jane for her fortune,” Marianne said.
Elinor stifled a groan, but her pen pressed against the paper until the nib was ruined. “You told Lady Rebecca? Marianne!”
“I am sorry, Elinor – but we did think that the colonel might – that is, we thought it would be a fine thing – perhaps he is a better man….”
“Marianne,” Mary gasped. “You ought not gossip about your own sister with a near stranger! Her heart is broken – it is a personal matter!”
“Thank you, Mary,” Elinor said. “I would not wish for Lady Rebecca to shade the colonel’s impression of me – to give him the idea that I am a damsel in distress or an otherwise pathetic figure.”
“But you are,” Marianne said, gesturing emphatically at her. “Edward has betrayed you a second time; I hope the colonel shall at least remind you that you are worthy of better treatment. For myself, I am resolved only to put up with the very best, or nothing at all.”
Elinor smiled in spite of herself. Colonel Fitzwilliam had warned her that his sister would likely have such an influence on Marianne, who was already on a tear of vengeance after confronting Mr. Bingley.
“I comprehend your feelings perfectly, dear sister; I only wish you would try to understand my own. What I feel about Edward can have nothing to do with the colonel, or any other man. I am wounded, and I hesitate to even attempt to correct our cousins’ misapprehension; my regard for Edward has suffered, and my faith in my own judgement is shaken – let us not add anybody else into the equation, if you please. ”
Mary clutched Marianne’s hand. “I think she is right – you did not like it when I told you that Kitty flirted with Mr. Bingley, and you would hardly receive Colonel Brandon’s attentions merely because Willoughby disappointed you.”
“Certainly not,” Marianne huffed. “But if the brother of a friend like Lady Rebecca took an interest in me, I am sure I should see that he is a far superior man.”
Elinor pursed her lips, feeling some distress as she wondered if she had indeed enjoyed the colonel’s easy company more than she ought to have.
But this was impossible; her shattered heart still belonged to Edward.
She began to feel some rising resentment toward Marianne, who had loudly lamented her own heartbreak, and yet managed to grow fond enough of Wickham to be shaken by his punishment.
“Marianne, I believe you have indeed received the attentions of Lady Rebecca’s brother – her brother by marriage. You seemed to enjoy his company at the ball, before he was unmasked.”
Marianne gasped and staggered backwards into Mary. “Elinor, what a horrid thing to say! You know I hate him, even if Lizzy says that Jane does not wish us to. He must be heartless indeed if he could flirt with me while thinking to return to Jane!”
“He did not appear especially interested in Kitty, nor myself,” Mary mused. “He spoke of nothing but Jane, and his wish to impress her by improving himself at Netherfield.”
“Idiotic,” Marianne said with a shake of her head and a sneer.
Mary sat down on the bed and tugged Marianne down beside her. “You think Mr. Bingley ought to suffer the loss of my sister, but not that he ought to attempt to win her back, because she no longer thinks of him – is that not so?”
“Absolutely!”
“Then by the same logic, do you believe that Elinor ought to suffer the loss of Mr. Ferrars, but that she ought not attempt a reconciliation?”
“Well – I – it is hardly the same thing,” Marianne sputtered.
“But they are both grieving,” Mary said with rising frustration. “You cannot expect Elinor to think of the colonel or any other man, when you would murder Mr. Bingley in the street if he showed any interest in Kitty. Surely Elinor’s feelings were deeper than his.”
Tears welled in Elinor’s eyes. “Yes, exactly. Your hypocrisy is not comforting, Marianne.”
“My hypocrisy! Because I wish ill upon a feckless blockhead, and want my sister’s heart mended by a better man than the one who wounded it?” Marianne stood and tidied her rumpled appearance. “Send Lizzy and Jane my love – if I do not go and vent my spleen to Mamma, I may have to throttle Kitty!”
As Marianne stormed out of the room, Mary came to lay a hand on Elinor’s shoulder. “Do you wish to speak of it?”
“No, I have not the words. I will finish my letter. Perhaps you could prevent Marianne from distressing your mother and sisters?”
“Mamma believes the gentlemen are both our rightful property,” Mary said, furrowing her brow. “Jane shall have Longbourn, and we need not marry. But you… you say it is not so simple – I would hardly know – but I wish for your sake that it could be – that you might find happiness. You deserve it.”
Elinor gave her cousin a tearful smile. “You are vastly under-appreciated, Mary.”
When her cousin left her in solitude, Elinor paced the room for a quarter hour before she was fit to resume her letter.
She did not like to quarrel with Marianne, but she could not suppress a sense of bitterness at all that had happened since the autumn.
Marianne had been so open with her feelings, first in her happiness, and then in her sorrow at Willoughby’s abandonment.
Elinor never had the luxury of such candor, and it was not in her nature, anyhow.
She had been obliged to greater discretion at Norland, for Fanny had not concealed that she thought Elinor was beneath Edward.
And then Elinor had been bound to secrecy when Lucy Steele confided; Marianne soon discovered the truth for herself and commiserated with her, but Elinor was still not at liberty to disclose the truth to any other soul.
Her feelings had been private, and Marianne had impetuously presumed this to mean that her grief was not as great, but when Elinor finally endeavored to express what she felt, Marianne had utterly failed to comprehend her.
Elinor could not bear such sentiments as these for long, and she soon applied herself to finishing the letter. She said nothing of Edward, for she could not bring herself to write anything of him, not even that she had no wish to hear further of him.
But there was one matter she felt she must address, for she knew that Elizabeth’s dislike of Mr. Darcy was founded on the same false account Mr. Wickham had given Marianne.
Since Mr. Darcy had been so gallant toward Jane, Elinor felt it a right thing that her cousin be given all the facts, as the colonel had imparted to her at the ball; she disclosed everything he had told her, except for the identity of the lady Mr. Wickham had prevailed upon.
Before closing her letter, Elinor once more considered what to say about Edward. Had he mistaken her meaning on Christmas Eve, or had he willfully misrepresented himself to Jane? Could he indeed wish to pursue an heiress? Or perhaps her cousins had misunderstood somehow….
She could express none of these fears, and folded the letter as tears poured down her face.
Beyond all these questions was a far greater doubt; perhaps Marianne was right in believing that she deserved a better man, for Elinor had known every sort of punishment for her attachment to Edward, and not a single advantage.