Chapter Fifteen #2
“I did not convince that painter to portray her so! Others had begun to recognize her well before I ever saw the work for myself, you know.”
“I further know that what would otherwise have been a resemblance remarked upon by only a few was made very public by your taking Miss Tilney to the gallery yourself and ensuring that a crowd could see both girl and picture at the same time. A small rumor was made a great scandal by your mischief. This you did believing that the Darcy heir would then have no other choice but to wed Priscilla, regardless of his lack of interest in her.”
“She will be mistress of Pemberley!” Caroline insisted. “I will have it so!”
“Because you did not become its mistress,” replied Mr. Allerdyce, and his anger had fled from him then.
In its place was something far worse: sorrow.
“From past jibes of Mrs. Hurst, I had already determined that you once aspired to wed Mr. Darcy. I could not fault you for attempting to make an eligible match, for what else do we all do during the time of life when courtship occurs? Yet I had believed these many years that it was I who had won your love, and this was what mattered most in the end. It appears that this is not what matters most to you.”
With that, Mr. Allerdyce left, and Caroline was left alone with both her disappointments and her dread of what had become of her husband’s love for her.
Unsurprisingly, that night at dinner, both Miss Allerdyce and Mr. Lucas practically shone with happiness, and every person present wished them joy.
Mr. Bingley insisted that some of the best wine be brought up from the cellars, and he and his wife, at least, genuinely shared in the young couple’s satisfaction.
Yet the spirit at table did not rise to the heights that might normally have been expected.
The deaths of Mr. Hurst and Becky still cast their pall, but added to this were the glowering disapproval of Mr. Darcy; the resentment of Jonathan Darcy; the wan languor of Juliet Tilney; the petulance of Caroline Allerdyce; the depression of her husband; the dark amusement of Miss Priscilla; and the wary gazes of the Loftons, who sensed that much strife lay all about them in every direction but knew not what.
Mrs. Hurst was primarily interested in the partridges, which were excellent.
Mr. Bingley truly believed he would be helping to jolly the evening along by civilly asking, “Miss Tilney, did not you receive a letter from your grandfather yesterday? Is all your family in good health?”
The question was unremarkable, for letters were often read aloud in general company, even when the letter writer was unknown to most others present.
When Juliet blanched, however, it became clear that she could not give him an equally unremarkable answer.
“My grandfather…he asked of me something I know my parents would not wish me to do. He can be severe. Forgive me, but I can share no more.”
“Oh dear.” Mr. Bingley could scarcely bear the thought of having hurt another through his own imprudence. “How terribly sorry we all are to hear it.”
Caroline, goaded by her own misdeeds, said, “I suppose he has many concerns about your prospects at present.”
This was most rude—even Mr. Darcy thought so—and only deepened the breach between Caroline Allerdyce and her husband. Yet Juliet accepted it in silence; and, angry though Jonathan was on her behalf, he knew that to make more of the comment would only worsen Juliet’s shame.
So this gibe might have gone unremarked, had it not had a most unusual, even astounding effect upon another person currently seated at the table.
Somebody had finally, truly, made Jane Bingley mad.
Of course, Jane’s natural sweetness meant that she did not shout, or say anything unkind. Instead she gave her decided opinion: “I think it very wrong that a young woman’s reputation should be considered sullied only because a trick has been played upon her.”
This astonishing forthrightness, particularly given its source, stunned most into silence. It was Mr. Darcy who said, “Nonetheless it is the way of society.”
“I am not certain it should be so,” replied Jane.
“In fact, I am not certain it is so. For, you see, a trick was once played upon me. Do you not remember, Mr. Darcy? And you, Mrs. Allerdyce, Mrs. Hurst? It has always been my understanding that each of you had a part in it, though if I am incorrect, I humbly beg your pardon.”
Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Hurst, and Caroline Allerdyce had all turned various shades of red. The younger persons present were in a state of consternation, and for many, also an avid curiosity. “What trick?” Priscilla asked. “What sort of trick do you mean?”
Juliet said, “You cannot mean—no painting of you—”
“Oh, goodness, indeed no!” Jane exclaimed.
“I should not have had your fortitude in that case, Miss Tilney. This trick was not so elaborate. It was only that I loved Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Bingley loved me, but it did not suit his sisters or his friend that we should marry. So they gave him reasons to be in London, and when I visited London as well, I was informed that he knew of my being present in the city, yet he never came to call. Given this, I could only surmise that he no longer cared for me. How heartbroken I was! Yet it was all a trick, you see. Mrs. Hurst and Mrs. Allerdyce concealed my presence in London from Mr. Bingley, with the knowledge and support of Mr. Darcy.”
“Well,” said Mr. Bingley, as surprised as anyone else could be by his wife’s sudden display of spirit, but not displeased. “We sorted it all out in the end.”
Jane smiled at her husband. “We did indeed, for I believe that where there is true love, it can triumph over any obstacle. But I have not yet posed my question. Mr. Darcy, do you feel that my good reputation was sullied by the trick you played upon me?”
Nothing in the previous quarter century could have prepared Mr. Darcy for this from Jane.
He had long since confessed his wrongdoing in the matter to Bingley, and had been heartily ashamed of his behavior.
Only now did he realize he had never apologized to Jane herself, and that he should have done.
“Of course not, Mrs. Bingley,” he managed to say. “I am most grievously sorry.”
“You are not sorry enough to give credit to another girl who has had a trick played upon her. So I cannot think the lesson has been truly learned. Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, for speaking of an event so long past, but I could no longer be silent.”
With this, Jane turned her attention back to her food.
No one could speak. Jonathan stared at his father in shocked disapproval, as the Allerdyce girls did their mother.
Juliet’s gratification in her hostess’s defense was tempered by the private burdens she still bore.
Mrs. Hurst, who had never been ashamed of her machinations regarding her brother’s courtship, simply turned her attention back to the partridges.
The elder generation felt well and truly shamed before the younger after dinner that evening.
Caroline could hardly face her daughters, and her husband did not want to face her.
Juliet Tilney, though still dazed with horror and uncertainty, found she could walk past Mr. Darcy without the slightest concern for his opinion.
Yet most troubled of all was Jonathan Darcy.
Forever, he had looked up to his father as the epitome of everything that was good, right, and gentlemanly.
Whenever Mr. Darcy had urged his son toward different behaviors, Jonathan had endeavored mightily to behave as his father wished—even when his particular character was profoundly distressed by doing so.
All this he had done because he honored his father above all other men.
Then to learn this!
The two Darcy men rode back toward Longbourn in silence until they had very nearly reached the house, when at last Jonathan could not but ask, “Does Mother know?”
Mr. Darcy sighed. “She learned of it at the time, and gave me such an upbraiding as I shall never forget. I am deeply ashamed of my behavior toward your aunt and have been ever since that day.”
“Yet you say that I am the one who has behaved dishonorably,” Jonathan said, “because I sought to stand by the woman that I love when wrong was being done to her.”
“The situations are not at all the same!” Mr. Darcy insisted, though inwardly he became less certain of this every day. “Whatever errors I have made in judgment, they do not justify your having kept secrets from me.”
“Then I shall no longer keep them,” said Jonathan.
He had much to tell his father, but he knew what had to be said first, before anything else, for it was the burden he had carried longest. “Father—you must know—what happened to Susannah, the reason Mr. Wickham took her from us—it is my fault. I am the reason she is dead.”