Chapter 1 #2
Also, Miss Darcy and Miss de Bourgh had mentioned many times their joy of being together and their sisterly bond, of which everybody seemed to approve.
An ache gripped Elizabeth’s chest at the realisation that Darcy would likely be married very soon, although she knew she had no reason and no right to feel that way.
She could not possibly imagine that he would ever renew his proposal to her, under any possible circumstances.
And when she had arrived at Pemberley, she had not even been certain she would have wanted that.
Her sole desire had been to speak to him and to clear up all the misunderstandings between them.
But during the days she spent in his home, the more she thought of him, the more she came to know him in his absence, the more she felt that, perhaps, he could have been the man best suited to her.
That comprehension came with another painful understanding: he had become the last man in the world she had any chance of ever marrying.
A man who had been so harshly and undeservingly rejected? A man as proud as him? Not even one with less pride, less fortune, or lower connections would humble himself so much as to propose a second time.
Yes, she had been his first choice. He had offered her his hand, ready to share his life with her against his family’s wishes.
Their marriage would have, no doubt, aroused the disapproval of his family and friends, but he had been willing to fight every opponent for her sake.
He had said he had loved her against his duty, against his will, against his reason, and even against his character.
Back then, at the parsonage, she had been too angry, too prejudiced, too thoughtless to understand the strength and the depth of his confession.
She had taken his words as offences, and her mind had been blurred by her misjudgment.
What else could she expect now, except his rejection? He had behaved better than most men in his situation would, as he was polite, generous, and kind to her family—even if from afar.
Elizabeth felt no hint of jealousy or any grudge against Anne. On the contrary, she had come to know her better and found that she was indeed well educated, friendly, and kind. Perhaps too shy, but her self-confidence was increasing daily.
Together with Pemberley, Elizabeth also liked Anne and Georgiana and valued their friendship enough to grieve losing them. She had no doubt that Darcy would forbid them any connection with her, so she would likely not see them—or Pemberley—again.
When she left for the Lakes, Elizabeth wished Anne and Georgiana the utmost happiness—with all her heart. Yet Elizabeth’s heart remained behind at Pemberley.
Shortly after, a report about Darcy becoming engaged to Anne arrived.
Ten months had passed since then, and Elizabeth was now at peace with her strife. Her spirit had slowly roused itself from the feelings of guilt. Eventually, she accepted that she had made the most significant error of her life, one that was impossible to remedy. She had to leave the past behind.
Of Darcy, she knew little. She expected news about his wedding to Anne.
There had been rumours, as Anne continued to live with either the Matlocks or with Georgiana, in Darcy’s house.
Miss de Bourgh had stayed away from Rosings for almost an entire year, which seemed unthinkable to everyone who knew the family.
But no announcements about a wedding appeared, and Darcy himself was rarely seen in company.
Bingley did not know more. He kept up a regular correspondence with Darcy but they were never reunited.
Elizabeth had come to London before Christmas, staying partly with the Gardiners and partly with Bingley and Jane, in Grosvenor Street.
They unexpectedly encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam at the opera one evening, and he also informed them that he had seen his cousin but rarely.
It appeared Darcy always had business that kept him away from his acquaintances.
But why was he estranged from his family and friends too?
Her reason and common sense convinced Elizabeth she could not challenge fate. She had to regain her wit and accept the obvious. Then she met Lady Kendal, and her life changed again—completely.
Now, she believed she was ready to embrace what the future had prepared for her. She also wished and prayed for Darcy to find peace and happiness in his marriage to Anne. If she happened to meet him one day, she would do it with composure and proper politeness, like any other old acquaintance.
“Miss Bennet? Which dress?” the maid asked, slighting raising her voice to bring Elizabeth back from her memories. She startled, looking around, momentarily disconcerted.
“This one.”
“Excellent. It will look wonderful on you, ma’am.”
“This gown would look wonderful on anyone,” Elizabeth said, as the maid started to dress her.
Still distressed by her recollections, Elizabeth felt little excitement in the preparations.
The remembrance lowered her spirits even more, removing any pleasure of the upcoming event.
Yet, she was dutiful in her efforts to look her best and needed more than an hour until she was satisfied with her own image in the mirror.
Even then, she still needed another pin to fix a lock of unruly hair that fell onto her temple.
She wished to please Lady Kendal, as she knew how important that evening was for her ladyship; not only because the private ball was among the last glamorous events of the Season but also because of its significant meaning.
If it was only for herself, Elizabeth would not have put so much trouble into dressing for a private ball.
She did enjoy balls but never took them seriously enough to worry over her appearance.
The only two balls that still tormented her even after such a long time were the Meryton assembly—the first time Bingley had danced with Jane—and the ball at Netherfield. Since then, she had attended several others, elegant and impressive, but by no means as memorable to her.
“You look stunning, Miss Bennet,” the maid declared. “The most beautiful lady I have seen.”
“You are too generous in your praise, my dear. But I shall take the compliment anyway. Thank you for all your help. You may retire now.”
“I am being honest, Miss Bennet,” the maid concluded with a curtsey before exiting the chamber.
The hour was still early and Elizabeth needed a moment of solitude to calm herself, staring out of the window.
She was in Bingley’s townhouse, together with the Gardiners, since it was closer to Lady Kendal’s residence.
It was a warm afternoon in May—too warm for her taste. Elizabeth missed the cool breeze of the Hertfordshire woods, the silence and the scent of Oakham Mount’s groves. She longed for her solitary strolls when her musings were her sole company.
And, even more, she missed the long walks in the beauty of Pemberley Park. But those were memories only. She would never be invited to Pemberley and would never have the impudence to arrive unannounced again.
“Miss Bennet? The carriage is here,” the maid announced. Elizabeth had not even noticed she had returned.
“Very well.”
“The others are ready. They are only waiting for you.”
“Thank you. I shall be downstairs shortly,” Elizabeth said with a last glance in the mirror. For a moment, she wondered who the elegant, fashionable woman that looked back at her was.