Chapter 24
“My dear, did you have a pleasant time?” Lady Kendal asked when they arrived home.
“Yes. Very pleasant. I am glad you convinced me to go.”
“So am I. Everyone was so nice—except for Caroline Pemberton. Upon my word, I cannot decide if I should be angry with her or simply pity her. She is as ridiculous as she is discourteous.”
“Yes, she has always been the same. I assumed an advantageous marriage would improve her civility, but it only increased her arrogance. I am glad that at least she does not live with Jane and Charles any longer.”
“She seemed to purposely defy you, as though you were enemies. Very much like Lady Catherine de Bourgh—I wonder if they are related. Mrs Pemberton resembles her much more than sweet Anne.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, there is a clear resemblance. Or perhaps they are only united in their hatred of me.”
“What on earth could they both have against you? Such resentment is usually very personal, as though you were in direct competition for something.”
Elizabeth shrugged and attempted a smile. She knew very well the reason behind both ladies’ hatred, and it was closely related to Mr Darcy’s handsome figure.
“But Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy protected you decidedly. Not that you needed any help to defend yourself from Mrs Pemberton.”
“They protected you too, Lady Kendal. And it was well deserved.”
“Indeed. They have proved to be loyal and valuable friends to both of us.”
“True,” Elizabeth whispered, trying to sound reasonably calm.
“And the rest of the conversation was very interesting. I was impressed by how honestly and harshly the colonel and Mr Darcy spoke of gentlemen’s duties. Both Mr Pemberton and Mr Hurst were offended by what was nothing but the truth.”
“Mr Pemberton and Mr Hurst seem easily offended. I have not heard Mr Hurst ever express his opinion so decidedly.”
“One of Pemberton’s statements was correct: most men are very much the same. Even my dear Philip was very much like any other gentleman of his rank and position. He had a kind heart and would help anyone in need, but he never put too much effort into his daily responsibilities.”
She was suddenly saddened and wiped several rebel tears that had fallen onto her cheeks. Elizabeth embraced her affectionately. However, after a few moments of sorrow, Lady Kendal started to laugh tearfully and Elizabeth stared at her, bewildered.
“Poor Mrs Pemberton,” the lady unexpectedly said.
“She chased Darcy around town for years and now has to witness her sister-in-law doing the same. Can you imagine her despair? I see no sign that Darcy might show Miss Pemberton more attention, but would it not be amusing if he married her and ruined Caroline’s mood forever? ”
The sharp claw of torment returned to grasp Elizabeth’s heart.
No, she was not amused at all at the prospect of Darcy marrying Miss Pemberton, although she tried to appear so to indulge her companion. But the circumstance was indeed laughable.
“I doubt Mr Darcy will marry for that purpose only,” Elizabeth tried to joke.
“To be honest,” Lady Kendal continued, “I find it difficult to understand why Mr Darcy has not married yet. He is a man of great character and an excellent situation in life, not to mention very handsome. Probably any young lady would accept a marriage proposal from him. And yet he seems to prefer solitude. It is quite strange.”
“Mr Darcy is younger than his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam was when I first met him in Kent.”
“I am not claiming he is too told to marry…I am just surprised. Colonel Fitzwilliam was known as a gentleman who enjoyed ladies’ company, but Mr Darcy does not seem to favour anyone so far. At least that is what the rumours say.”
“I am sure Mr Darcy can judge what is best for himself,” Elizabeth declared. The conversation distressed her, but she did not feel brave enough to dismiss it.
“Speaking of marriages, my dear… You should be warned that you will soon start to receive many cards from eligible single gentlemen. As soon as the mourning period ends you will become one of the most eligible women in London, not only because of your fortune and connections, but also because of your beauty and wit.”
“Lady Kendal!”
“Do not look so appalled, my dear. You must consider the next stage of your life. You will have countless options, and your only concern should be to decide wisely and to choose the man best suited to you.”
“It is too soon to even consider such a matter. Should we not go to sleep now? It is late and I believe we are both tired.”
Lady Kendal did not insist, and Elizabeth withdrew to her room in some haste. There was nothing for her to consider, as her choice had long been made. There was only one man in the world suited to her. If it could not be him, there was nobody else.
The recollections of the evening invaded her as soon as she closed her eyes. And then older memories, sweeter and more painful, followed. Tender like caresses, gentle like embraces, soft like his lips, whose flavour she remembered so vividly and longed to feel again.
Sleep eventually defeated her, but restlessness remained, disturbing her dreams and exhausting her body and her mind even more.
∞∞∞
Darcy filled his cup of coffee for the third time, but the black liquid that should awaken his senses and remove some of the unbearable tiredness seemed to be ineffectual.
He should have become accustomed to the lack of sleep and the tiredness, since he had not slept an entire night since the dawn when he had left Elizabeth on the beach in Brighton.
Since he had held her in his arms, ready to give herself to him entirely, just as he was ready to give himself to her.
But both knew they could not defy their own promises, their sense of honour, their care for innocent, blameless people who depended on them.
They both knew their love—ardent, deep, complete, consuming, devastating—could not find fulfilment that summer, that night, in that place.
It had to wait until its time would finally come, and they—he—could only hope that the fire would remain alive and strong over the months, perhaps the years.
Loving Elizabeth and discovering that her feelings were equally powerful, he was trapped, caged, torn between the selfish desire to bond himself to her and his genuine wish to see a good man like Philip Russell improving, becoming healthier, living a good life.
He knew—she had told him as much and he trusted her with his life—that if Philip had not been so ill she would never have married him.
Lady Kendal and Lord Alveston himself had admitted as much.
But since she had entered into the engagement and had given her word to both him and his grandmother that she would marry him, Elizabeth could not—would not—take it back.
It hurt Darcy to know that he could only be happy with Elizabeth after Philip died, and the news of the young earl’s death pained him.
He had kept his distance from Elizabeth—although many times he had walked past their house, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
He had spotted her in the carriage with Lady Kendal.
He knew she had visited his sister, his cousin, and his aunt, and he was aware that he could have called on her and Lady Kendal.
He had not doubted his reception, but he had imagined their suffering and their grief, and his care for Elizabeth and worry for her tranquillity had been stronger than his longing to see her, to be near her.
What had comforted him the most was the obvious affection and mutual respect between Elizabeth and Lady Kendal—who treated her like a daughter or granddaughter.
The news that Elizabeth would attend Bingley’s dinner party had thrown him into the middle of a storm of turmoil.
And when he had found himself in the same room as her, his strength had melted away, his breathing had stopped, and his heart had pounded.
He had watched her torment, her paleness, her thin cheeks, and her sad eyes which had lost their sparkle.
Then, with thrill and admiration, he had listened to her reply to Caroline Pemberton’s rudeness.
He had been tempted to intervene further, to protect her from any trouble, but he had known she would be embarrassed by him being overly protective.
Besides, she was bright, decided, and self-confident enough to fight anyone and to defeat Caroline—Bingley or Pemberton—at any time.
And he had spoken to her—directly, privately, face to face, so near that he could catch her scent. She had allowed him to understand that her pleasure in seeing him was greater than her distress at his presence. For that little knowledge, he was grateful.
Lady Kendal had encouraged him to visit them.
She had even mentioned that they would need his opinion in regard to a new charitable venture they were planning on opening.
The invitation was so tempting that he checked his pocket watch several times, wondering if and when he should call or at least send a card.
When he finally gathered his courage and found a pretext to visit Lady Kendal, his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived precisely as he was leaving the house.
“Forgive me, Richard, but I was just leaving. I am going to visit Lady Kendal. Would you like to join me?”
“No, I am going to my club and I hoped you would come too. But I will accompany you there,” the colonel said, walking by his side. “Do you have some business with her ladyship?”
“I am not certain, but she mentioned she needed my opinion on some affair.”
“Well, please convey my best regards to both ladies. Lady Alveston looked a little different but still lovely enough. I often recall the lively and lovely Miss Elizabeth Bennet that I met in Kent three years ago.”