Chapter Twenty
Poison is a woman’s weapon.
A cold sort of fellow.
His behavior could become very unnerving indeed.
The many theories Juliet had heard with Jonathan the night before preoccupied her greatly during luncheon.
Eager was she to go into Meryton afterward, to visit the Brookses and hear their theories.
She found it particularly intriguing that the couple had been named by several persons—this, despite the fact that they would have had to slip into Netherfield.
With Becky’s help, that would not have been so difficult, Juliet thought.
She had even contemplated the idea that it might have been Becky herself who placed the poison in the coffee cup on the morning of Mr. Hurst’s death; the money the killer might have offered her might not have been only to keep silent but also to complete the deed.
Becky had seemed so amiable and cheerful that Juliet did not like this thought—but she had met amiable murderers before.
Just as the meal ended, one of the Netherfield servants returned with the post, which included a letter for Juliet. She recognized upon its address her mother’s hand, as familiar to Juliet as her own.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said to Jonathan, “if you will forgive me, I must read this before we are away to Meryton.”
Jonathan seemed puzzled, as well he might be, but he excused her warmly. Juliet hurried up to her bedchamber, cracking the wax seal even as she went through the door.
Dearest Juliet—
We returned home from our travels with Theodosia and Albion to discover first that you had gone to Hertfordshire, then to our great distress the cruel edict laid down upon you by General Tilney.
Your father has of course rebelled against this, but your grandfather has thus far held firm, and it is my belief that he will continue to do so.
First I must reassure you that we do not and will not consent to your disownment.
We would never do such a thing, ever, under any circumstances; you are our daughter, our firstborn, and more precious to us than we can express.
That General Tilney should have been a father himself and yet failed to understand this!
His decision says nothing of your character and everything of his.
Do not think that your father and I are so without resource that we must comply with your grandfather’s wishes.
The copyrights of my last and next books will keep us from poverty; your father’s future expectations from his mother’s estate may allow us some measure of credit; beyond that, there are other parishes in the nation of England, and not all of them are equally susceptible to the influence of wealth.
Your father has already written to the bishop about the possibility of another living, and if worse comes to worst, there is of course the one at Foxley.
Foxley, Juliet knew, was the parish connected to the estate that belonged to her uncle, the viscount Lord Astwick.
Sir David and her aunt Eleanor were happily wed; and if her aunt wished for Juliet’s family to have that living, it would be so.
Yet Juliet also knew that Foxley was a very scanty living indeed.
Aunt Eleanor had sighed over the smallness of its vicarage and the difficulty of keeping a parson for very long, for the income produced by the parish was generally not enough to support a family.
If Juliet’s mother already thought of their moving to Foxley as a possibility, matters were grave.
In this way, Catherine Tilney’s efforts to comfort and console her daughter worked entirely the opposite effect of what was intended.
Juliet folded the letter and put it in her writing desk, but though she did not carry the paper with her, its burden still lay upon her.
She descended the stairs into Netherfield’s great hall, where Jonathan waited for her, wearing her best attempt at a smile.
Yet within an instant, Jonathan’s answering expression had become a frown of confusion.
“Are you unwell in some way? Did your letter contain bad news?”
She found she could not lie to him. “Please, Mr. Darcy. We have an important task before us—let us first attend to that, before we discuss any other matters.”
“The task is most important,” said Jonathan, “and that is all the more reason that we must approach it with clear minds.”
Juliet hesitated, but this could not be kept back any longer. “Let us talk in the carriage.”
The rain that had begun to patter the countryside this afternoon was their friend, for normally so short a journey would have called only for an open carriage. Instead, the coach had been made ready, and within but a few steps they were both ensconced inside, safe from both weather and prying ears.
As soon as the coach door closed, Jonathan turned to Juliet in concern. “Please, will you not tell me the difficulty?”
“My mother wrote to tell me that neither she nor my father will comply with my grandfather’s wishes regarding me. You see, in the last letter my grandfather wrote—Jonathan, I am disowned by him, for rejecting the proposal of Mr. Follett.”
His astonishment was great. “Utterly and completely? Merely because you would not marry a man you do not love?”
“Also because I refused to entrap you into marriage.” Juliet struggled against tears.
“If he but knew! Still, it is done, and I know my grandfather well enough to know that he will hold fast, both against me and anyone in the family who dares to support me. He threatens to take away my father’s parish, and if he does so, we shall be nearly penniless. I have proved the ruin of us all.”
Jonathan took her hand. “Do not say so. It will not come to this. As you yourself said—if your grandfather knew of our engagement, he would forgive all, would he not?”
She considered this carefully. “Forgive, no, for he is a hard man. Yet his vanity would eclipse his ire in this matter. He would find it very pleasing to be so connected to the Darcys of Derbyshire.”
“Then this is but a brief tempest,” Jonathan said. “We will reveal the truth soon.”
“The break between you and your father—it will not long endure, surely, but—”
“But after you leave Netherfield, you will have no place to go.” Jonathan’s spirits had sunk as well.
“I shall have to inform him earlier than I would have otherwise, to be sure. But perhaps that is for the best. Even in anger, my father would not see you so hard done by. We will find a way, this I promise. I will not see you so hard done by—it is not to be borne, and it shall not be.”
Juliet nodded, hoping it to be true. For a moment she simply held Jonathan’s hand and watched the raindrops speckling the coach windows. The countryside all around had become blurred, silver, like a transparency that had been too long exposed to the sun.
Then Jonathan said, “Did not your grandfather’s last letter arrive some days ago?”
“Yes, but I did not wish to burden you. I know that at times you become overwhelmed, and given the difficulty with your father, I feared it would be too much.”
To her surprise, Jonathan said, “You must not ever do this again. You must not hide your fears and travails, only for my sake.” He lifted her hand and kissed it; even through her glove, Juliet felt the warmth of his mouth.
“Throughout my life, I have had to struggle to be as others would wish me to be. In these past few years, primarily due to our connection, I no longer feel such a great need to do so. Yet I am capable of endeavor, capable through long experience, and there is no purpose more worthy of that endeavor than of supporting and caring for you.”
Again Juliet fought back tears, for different and far better reasons. “My dear Jonathan. You are so good.”
“Do you promise?” Jonathan said. “You will trust me to be as strong as you may need me to be?”
“I do promise. I do trust you. I trust you more than I have ever trusted any other person, with my very life.”
These words touched Jonathan deeply. To be cared for was one thing, to be trusted another—and only in this moment did he realize how little he had been trusted. Almost no one had ever doubted his character, but almost everyone had doubted his capacity. Juliet alone saw him true.
She smiled at him, their hands still joined, and a warm tide of feeling made Jonathan acutely conscious how little he minded being touched by her.
How much he actually wished to touch her.
This desire had never moved him before knowing Juliet Tilney, and he had but little explored it.
Now it struck him afresh that marriage would mean an end to all restraint in such matters.
That he had never felt the pain of such restraint so sharply as he did at this moment.
Yet an engagement, even a secret one, allowed for considerably less restraint than before.
Jonathan leaned nearer to Juliet, caressing the hand he held while using his other to trace a fingertip along the line of her jaw. She gasped, in surprise but perhaps for other reasons as well. Certainly she did not pull away.
“I hardly know what to do,” he whispered.
His finger found the corner of her small answering smile. “Nor I, sir. Yet I would gladly learn.”
He brought his face closer to Juliet’s, felt her breath against his lips, and finally dared to kiss her.
At first the touch was strange to Jonathan—thrilling, but strange—and he was not at all sure he was doing things correctly.
The delight of it, however, prompted him to try once more, then again.
Juliet’s mouth seemed to soften against his, her lips parting slightly.
Jonathan parted his own, kissed her more slowly, and began to think this might be more the proper way of going about it…
And then, as their kiss deepened, Jonathan forgot about such concerns altogether, which was the proof that he had got it right after all.