Near Pemberley (Pride and Prejudice what if variations)

Chapter I

Elizabeth shifted in her seat for what must have been the third or fourth time within as many minutes, though the carriage moved steadily enough to give her no real cause for discomfort.

Mrs. Gardiner, who sat opposite, glanced at her with a faint smile. “You are not easy, my dear,” she said. “Was the journey too long?”

“No, not at all,” Elizabeth replied quickly. “I am very well, I assure you.”

And she was, in every way that ought to signify. They had a hearty breakfast; the day was fine for travel; the road mostly agreeable, and the Derbyshire countryside offered views which, under other circumstances, she would have admired without reserve.

Yet she found it impossible to sit still.

They were now within a few miles of Lambton.

And beyond Lambton lay Pemberley.

She was vexed with herself for even thinking about the fact, but there it was. She looked out of the window, but she saw very little of what passed before her.

It was unreasonable to be so affected. She had known, when the plan of their tour was first proposed, that this part of the country might bring them uncomfortably near to places she would rather avoid. She had even believed herself prepared for it.

But to be actually here, with every turn of the road bringing them nearer to the neighbourhood of Mr. Darcy, tried her composure severely.

She checked the thought almost at once with impatience.

It was no longer of consequence. Whatever feelings she had once entertained, whether of resentment or something less easily named, they had no proper place now. She had refused him. The matter was settled.

And yet the idea persisted, despite all her reasoning.

That he should be so near.

That she might, by the merest accident, encounter him…

She could not easily prevent her imagination from pursuing the idea further.

She saw it clearly. His look of surprise, perhaps, at seeing her there. Or worse, no surprise at all, only that composed civility which admitted of nothing further. He would bow. She would curtsy. A few words would be exchanged, proper, unremarkable, and entirely void of meaning.

Or he might be cold. That, too, she had reason to expect.

Or altered.

That possibility, she did not know how to consider.

Then she thought of herself as being ungenerous. She had reason to believe that he would behave a gentleman… even if she had confronted him about his behaving otherwise.

There were moments now when she wished she could remember every word spoken at Hunsford with greater certainty.

At the time, she had believed herself entirely justified. Yet memory, viewed at a distance, was seldom so obliging.

She could still recall the force of her anger. What she could no longer determine was whether every expression of it had been equally deserved. After all, whatever his faults, he had spoken of genuine feeling.

Mr. Gardiner, who had been studying the landscape with increasing satisfaction, leant forward suddenly. “There, Lizzy – look there. Is that not a fine view?”

Elizabeth turned obediently towards the window.

“It is indeed,” she replied.

“What did I tell you, Husband?” said her aunt cheerfully. “Derbyshire improves with every mile.”

Mr. Gardiner smiled and agreed, while Elizabeth continued to look in the direction indicated, though she could not afterwards have described what she had seen.

If they met…, would he speak with ease? Would it give him pain to see her again?

And how should she behave?

With indifference, as she had once wished? With politeness only? She could not suppose herself equal to perfect composure, and the idea of betraying anything more was almost less unwelcome.

Another thought, less reasonable but still troubling, forced itself upon her. That he might not be surprised at all. That he might think she had come there on purpose.

The colour rose faintly in her cheeks at the thought. That he should suppose her capable of seeking him out, of placing herself in his way after all that had passed between them, was an idea she could hardly endure.

And with that came, unbidden, the memory of his words.

How ardently he had loved her.

She could not recall them without agitation. There had been pride in them, certainly, and offence enough to justify all that she had felt at the time. Yet there had been something else as well, something she had not then been inclined to consider.

That such a declaration should have been made at all, and made to her, was not a circumstance easily forgotten.

She wondered now whether he thought of it still. Whether he regretted it or wished it unsaid. Whether he had since convinced himself that his attachment had been no more than a passing folly.

The thought should have given her peace, but she found it gave her none at all.

She turned her head slightly, as if to escape the persistence of her own reflections. But thoughts, once admitted, are not so easily dismissed; and Elizabeth, who had often prided herself upon commanding her own spirits, found them at present very little disposed to obey her.

It was absurd to speculate on a meeting which might never occur.

Elizabeth made a deliberate effort to put on her gloves, as if the small action might steady her.

“I believe we are near Lambton now,” said Mr. Gardiner, leaning slightly forward to look out. “Another few minutes should bring us to the inn.”

Mrs. Gardiner followed his glance and began quietly to prepare for their arrival.

Elizabeth made some answer though she hardly knew what.

The carriage soon slowed, then turned, and at last came to a stop before a neat and respectable inn, whose appearance promised comfort without pretension. A servant came forward at once, and the bustle of arrival left her no leisure for further reflection.

It was only once they were shown into their sitting room, and the first civilities were concluded, that Mr. Gardiner returned to a subject he had already mentioned more than once upon the road.

“We are now so near Pemberley,” he said, “that I cannot persuade myself to quit the neighbourhood without seeing it. It is said to be one of the finest places in the county. Even my book says so.”

Elizabeth felt again that inward resistance, though she kept her manner composed.

“I have heard as much,” she said. Then, with an attempt at carelessness, she added, “After seeing so many, I can take little interest in carpets and curtains. If I recall, the library, on the other hand, is said to be remarkable.”

“Indeed? Then I am sure,” he replied, “you could visit one more big house. Your aunt assures me it is worth a visit.”

“If it were only a fine house, elegantly appointed,” Mrs. Gardiner said, “I should not trouble myself to see it either; but the grounds are indeed exceedingly beautiful. I still remember them. They are really among the finest in the county.”

“If the family is not at home, we may view it without inconvenience,” her husband surmised.

Mrs. Gardiner looked from one to the other. Seeing her niece hesitating, she added, “We may enquire first. There can be no harm in that.”

Elizabeth inclined her head, though she would willingly have avoided such certainty.

Mr. Gardiner stepped out to speak with one of the servants of the house, who appeared accustomed to such questions. The door closed behind him, and for a moment Elizabeth stood very still, as if listening for something she could not completely define.

She told herself she did not care what answer might be returned.

Indeed, it would be simplest if the family were absent. There would then be no awkwardness, no possibility of meeting him.

She moved towards the window, though she did not look out.

It was a mere matter of convenience. Nothing more.

When her uncle re-entered, she faced him at once.

“Well?” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“Mr. Darcy,” he replied, “is expected shortly with guests. Miss Georgiana is there already. It seems they may already have returned or will do so within the day.”

Elizabeth’s composure faltered, if only for a moment. “Already?” she said.

“So I am informed. In any case, they are not absent in the way we had supposed. The man says that visitors are usually welcome even when the Darcys are home. People are rarely turned back without at least being shown the garden. The housekeeper will know what areas to avoid.”

“Oh, how lovely. This was not the case in his parents’ time.” Mrs. Gardiner glanced briefly towards Elizabeth. “That does not quite accord with the character you once described. Did you not say he was proud and unpleasant?”

There was a brief pause.

“You could send a note that you are in the neighbourhood,” her aunt offered.

Elizabeth looked up quickly. “Certainly not.”

The answer escaped her with more haste than she intended.

Mrs. Gardiner smiled slightly. “My dear, I meant no more than a civil acknowledgement.”

“Mr. Darcy can have no interest in knowing that I am in Derbyshire.”

“I dare say he would not think so.”

“I should think so enough for both of us,” Elizabeth replied.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner shared a worried glance. Mr. Gardiner then said, “Then just come with us as visitors. We do not have to meet him or his guests.”

Elizabeth lowered her gaze and, after a moment, said with quiet firmness, “I would rather not go.”

***

Later, after a short walk, her aunt tried to reason with Elizabeth. “Lizzy, you even know the man.”

“Precisely so,” Elizabeth replied. Her voice was steady, though she did not immediately raise her eyes. “I have met him more than once. That is reason enough.”

Mrs. Gardiner regarded her with mild surprise.

“Do you not recall, Maddie, that she even danced with him?” Mr. Gardiner said lightly.

Her aunt looked back at her. “Reason against it, you mean? I should have thought the opposite.”

Elizabeth forced a small smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. “I cannot agree. It would place us in a very awkward situation. To arrive there as mere sightseers, and then be recognised… I should not like it.”

“You need not suppose it will happen,” said her aunt gently. “We might see the grounds only and quit the place before any meeting could occur.”

Elizabeth shook her head. There was a moment’s pause before she spoke, as though ashamed to have hesitated at all. “That is a chance I would rather avoid.”

Mr. Gardiner, who had listened with some curiosity, now spoke.

“My dear Lizzy, we would not willingly place you in discomfort. Yet I confess I am disappointed. It is said to be a place of uncommon beauty, and we are so near. You have borne all the inconveniences of our journey with such patience that I had hoped you would not refuse yourself what may prove its greatest reward.”

Elizabeth hesitated. She felt the justice of his wish and would not appear selfish. Yet the thought of going troubled her. To refuse appeared ungracious; to consent, for reasons she could not own even to herself, worse still.

“I would not prevent you,” she said at last. “If you and my aunt wish to go, you must by all means do so. Only do not expect me to accompany you.”

Mrs. Gardiner studied her for a moment, her expression softening. “You are fairly decided, then?”

Elizabeth paused. For an instant, the answer did not come. Her resolution, which had seemed so fixed while opposition was distant, faltered beneath kindness.

“I am.”

There was a pause, not of displeasure, but of quiet consideration.

“Very well,” said Mrs. Gardiner at last. “We shall not press you. Your uncle and I may go alone.”

Elizabeth inclined her head in gratitude, though she felt little ease from the concession.

The matter appeared settled, yet when her aunt turned away, she remained where she was, her hand resting lightly upon the back of a chair.

She told herself she was relieved.

She had avoided the risk, the embarrassment, the possible mortification of a meeting she could not command herself to face. She had acted prudently. She had preserved herself from every appearance of seeking him.

And still, as the silence returned, another feeling intruded, less welcome and more difficult to name.

She would not see him.

The certainty of it brought her less relief than she had expected. It settled upon her as a disappointment, though she would have been hard-pressed to say what hope had been disappointed.

She moved at last, slowly, towards the window.

It was a foolish thought, and she tried to dismiss it.

Yet she could not help wondering whether, had she gone, she might have found him altered. Or whether she herself had already changed without fully knowing it.

Or whether some moments, once declined, might not be so easily recovered.