Chapter 52 #2
This woman! “Elizabeth, I am sorry Mr. Gardiner was upset. My note to him should have been longer and followed by weekly updates. Georgiana was…I think we cleared up our misunderstanding when your uncle came here, but if not, I will speak to him again. Please understand your father means nothing to me. Please believe me. You have not changed because of my greater knowledge. Will you please accept that I have chosen to be your friend? I am sorry if other friends have spurned you—that I once spurned you—but you can trust me now when I say we will always be friends.” Hopefully more than friends quite soon.
She needed to trust in his loyalty before she would join her life with his.
Her eyes held such hope that he nearly took her in his arms to hold her until she believed him.
“I should dress for dinner. Jane will be wondering where I am.”
And she was gone.
That evening, Elizabeth was not sorry to have no opportunity for private conversation with Mr. Darcy.
Her feelings and her mind were in a muddle.
She thought of him long into the night, but her conclusions had not changed.
She felt he was earnest in thinking he would remain loyal, but when his friends and family reminded him of society’s expectations, he would choose them.
It was only natural, and like she had told him, she would not blame him.
She entered the Netherfield library some time after breakfast the next morning and was glad to see the fire was built up.
It was difficult to find a warm place to pass the time in this drafty house, and with the rain and wind still raging outside, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her shawl tighter and sit before the fire with a good book.
She skimmed the shelves for a likely candidate when she heard footsteps stop at the open door behind her.
Turning, she sucked in a breath at the sight of Mr. Darcy, as impeccably attired and as serious as ever.
Elizabeth curtsied, and he bowed. She turned back to the shelves and chose a book, then went to one of the plush chairs by the fire. Meanwhile, he had stepped into the room and found a book on a table. He joined her by the fire and sat in the chair opposite.
Neither spoke for some minutes as they both slowly turned pages.
After they had unburdened so much to each other the afternoon before, she felt a heaviness around them, but it was not uncomfortable.
Even in her current fog of thought, which she assumed he shared, she felt his energy and the peace he had brought with him since the spring.
“Do you have many portraits of your parents, Mr. Darcy?” It was a question apropos of nothing, but it was the type of query she was used to making of him.
“Several hang in the portrait gallery at Pemberley. A smaller painting of my mother is in my study. My father kept it there before she died, and there it remains.”
“I have a miniature of my mother.” She smiled thinking of it. She had left it in her room in London. If she wished to recall what her mother looked like, she could stop in front of a mirror. “It has given me great comfort since Uncle Bennet gave it to me when I was fifteen.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes grew soft, and the corners of his lips lifted a little.
“Gazing on a portrait of a loved one is comforting. I sometimes speak to my favorite image of my father to tell him how I am managing his estate. I can almost feel his praise or censure. Do you ever talk to your mother’s portrait? ”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Not so much anymore, but I used to all the time. I now look so much like her that it feels odd, as though as I am talking to myself. Her portrait was a great comfort to me when I was fifteen and struggling with my origin, though. She reminded me that I am a Bennet. Even if my father was not, she was, and so I am, too.”
He smiled at her and opened his mouth to speak, but Sir Abraham came in, followed by Miss Bingley.
They both returned to their books but were soon drawn into conversation with the betrothed couple about London activities.
It was clear to Elizabeth that Miss Bingley was attempting to convince the baronet to live in London permanently, but he countered every argument with praise for his estate and the surrounding Durham countryside.
Elizabeth chuckled when she considered that Miss Bingley would likely have a child in a year or two, and she might need a governess not too long after that.
Elizabeth would be overjoyed to live in the countryside, even so far away as Durham.
For that matter, Jane and Mary would need help with their children.
Perhaps she could live with one of them in a year or two.
She could help with their children without taking on the taint of officially being in service.
Would either of her cousins consider it?
Her heart pounded as she suddenly thought of what it would mean if she could live with Jane.
She glanced at Mr. Darcy, who was already looking at her quizzically.
If Jane would allow her to be her companion and then her de facto nursemaid and governess, she would see Mr. Darcy, perhaps often.
They would continue their camaraderie and easy conversation, and she could be near him even though he would never be hers.
Her heart sank when she thought of him bringing his own wife and children to visit.
She would be asked to care for his sons and daughters along with Jane’s.
She found it difficult to swallow over the dryness of her mouth.
Even though she had heard no more of the lady who had stolen his heart and nothing seemed to have come of it in the year and a half since Mr. Bingley had made the claim to his sister, Mr. Darcy may still love the unknown woman. Or there would be another.
She opened the book in her lap and stared at the pages.
For a brief moment of exquisite felicity, she had thought she had found a beautiful solution to her problems. Too soon, her dream had crashed heavily around her.
No matter how much Mr. Darcy professed his friendship would not fade, no man would go riding with a female friend once he was married.
Their lively discussions about everything would come to an end.
While the others were in conversation, she discretely excused herself, ignoring the gaze she felt burning her back. He may think he wished to be lasting friends, but he would discover soon enough that he needed more from a woman than he wanted from her and more than she would be allowed to give.
She retreated to her bedchamber for the remainder of the day.
At dinner, she sat as far from Mr. Darcy as she could and involved herself as thoroughly as possible in the planning for the ball.
That night in her bedchamber, she listened to the rain still drumming against her window, and she prayed fervently that it would cease and the roads would dry, so she could return to Longbourn.
She needed to place more distance than she had achieved that day between herself and Mr. Darcy.