Chapter 28 #2
“No, Georgiana, there is nothing for me in Hertfordshire—my heart resides in Derbyshire. Mama intends to lease Hathaway House. We will hire a steward to manage the estate and tenants. Indeed, Mr. Goulding, a neighbour, has suggested that the steward could manage his property as well, for he and his wife wish to retire to Bath.”
Where was Darcy… Talking with Milton. I could relax. He glanced up and caught my eye—hastily, I turned away.
“Lizzy, you are unwell; you are so flushed. Come, let us give our apologies to Aunt Susan and Uncle Henry, then to bed with you. And no more punch, I have never seen you so mellow—some willow bark tea will be just the thing.” Georgiana led me upstairs.
Indeed, I was a trifle disguised, and fell immediately into a restless sleep once Sally had assisted me into my night-rail.
* * *
It seemed that every room set out to torment me; for, in every room, Darcy would be reading, or speaking of the Lakes, or taking his repast, or a myriad of other things—everything and nothing.
Where once I would have engaged him in cheerful banter, I avoided his company.
I often found myself too close, or too taken with his intelligent discourse, or his wry observations of London society.
I became jealous of his esteem, when I could no longer hope to be benefited by it, other than as a sister should be treated, with familial affection and fraternal protection.
I wanted to be near him, to touch his sleeve, to throw my book at him when he made a particularly egregious comment.
That I was in love with him was no longer in doubt, but never could such delight turn to the felicity that Mama and Mr. Darcy enjoyed.
What a triumph for Lady Catherine! That before, when I had only seen him as the most benevolent of brothers, she had chastised me for beguiling him with my wiles and allurements.
What irony, now that he was by law a brother, I had no hope of securing his feelings beyond those of fraternal affection.
I now comprehended that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit me—a union, I truly believed, that would have been to the benefit of both of us.
Without a doubt, I am a selfish creature.
I could barely contemplate sitting of an evening at Pemberley, engaging in witty repartee—perhaps reading Latin, laughing over my appalling Greek pronunciation, besting him at backgammon—only for him to excuse himself, retire for the night, take his wife’s hand, kiss her cheek, and leave me alone.
My only warmth the flickering coals of an uncaring fire.
More than once, after Darcy had returned from riding the estate, he asked me to walk out with him.
Why, I do not know, for he knew our circumstances as well as I.
But I had not the strength to refuse—Mama and Mr. Darcy were not yet married, so I could pretend that all was well, that our excursions, always within sight of the house, were proper, that none would assume any impropriety.
Georgiana would sometimes walk with us by the lake—as we had when the three of us promenaded along the banks of Grasmere.
Lady Catherine encouraged Anne to join us, but she resented my company and, on the one occasion she did walk out, insisted we turn around even before reaching the path beside the lake.
Darcy tasked a gardener to assist her back to the house, much to the lady’s ire and embarrassment.
These walks were the very best part of my day.
Mama would raise an eyebrow, yet I didn’t have the will to refuse his arm.
We both spoke very little, content to enjoy each other’s company, knowing that our lives must diverge—he to find a wife and I a husband.
There was no hope that he would suddenly stop, gaze down at me and speak the words that I longed to hear—’Elizabeth, you are everything that I have ever wished for.
Dearest, I admire, respect, and love you with all my heart.
Will you do me the very great honour of being my wife? ’
Each night as I lay in bed, tears streaming down my cheeks, Lydia, Kitty and Mary would snuggle close and comfort me. I couldn’t speak of my loss to Mama—I feared she would give up her happiness to secure mine. That I could not countenance.
Two weeks passed. Pemberley emptied of its guests.
The Hursts resumed their journey to Netherfield, where they intended to remain for the wedding, then continue to Town.
The Crawleys returned to Crawley Lodge, the roof having been repaired; the Admiral remarked that all he required was a dry place to hang his hammock and a hot stove to prepare his favourite ragout.
He was an altogether lovely man. Lady Catherine departed with her brother, Lord Matlock, lamenting that Darcy had not proposed to Anne and that the corruption of Pemberley was now certain.
Mr. Collins accompanied her, also lamenting that I had not accepted his suit—that it was by no means certain that another offer of marriage would ever be made to me.
Milton elected to remain for a few days longer—possibly because he and Marianne Crawley had found a common interest in riding the trails near Pemberley and her estate.
I wished her all the joy that such an alliance could bring.
She was of good family—the Admiral to receive a barony for his services to the crown.
Marianne would make an excellent viscountess, if their blossoming affection progressed to its happy conclusion.
Mama’s nuptials were set for a month hence.
Mama and I were to return to Meryton to settle her affairs.
The wedding, by common licence, was to be held in the parish church where she and Mr. Bennet had married—a private ceremony attended by our closest family.
Darcy was to stand up with his father, and I with Mama.
* * *