Elizabeth shrugged as the maid appeared, carrying a tray of tea things. “It will have to do, for now.”
She studied her tea with the focus of a soothsayer looking for answers in the patterns of the tea leaves. But there was no clear direction laid out for her. Should she hold her peace and suffer on in silence? Should she try to go to Mr Darcy and plead her case?
No. That was impossible. Not only her pride forbid it, but the rules of propriety as well. Now that she and Mr Darcy were no longer engaged, the strict rules of etiquette once again applied. She would not be allowed to speak with him in relative privacy. The firm boundaries of decorum would again put a wall between them. Indeed, would he even remain in Meryton, now that he was free? She would not be surprised if he raced back to Pemberley and never showed his face in Meryton again. After all, his time in Hertfordshire had surely brought him nothing but inconvenience and dismay.
“Well, Lizzy, the great day approaches! Your wedding shall be a fine event, to be sure. How are you, my girl?” her mother asked. She at once took a bite of her toast, then went on as if she had not asked a question that required more than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. “I say, it is most pleasing to me to know that my daughter will be married in her home parish. I would have liked to travel to Pemberley’s parish, but I understand that time is of the essence.”
Elizabeth glanced at her father, pleading for him not to break the news to her mother while they were in the same room. She could not endure the fit of nerves that would likely take her mother to her bed for the next few days.
“It is coming along, Mama,” was all Elizabeth had the stomach to say. She silently pleaded with Jane not to say anything about the broken engagement. Jane kept her mouth shut, for which Elizabeth was grateful. It felt like there was a large hole in her chest where her heart had been the day before.
With breakfast over, the girls retired to the parlour, some sewing, some reading, and Mary plunking away on the piano. Elizabeth thought grimly that it sometimes seemed as though a lady’s life was filled with one busy nothing or another, broken up only by the rare occasions of light amusement and gaiety that being out in society afforded. How she wished for Mr Bingley to throw another ball at Netherfield. If only she and Mr Darcy had a chance to begin again —
Elizabeth’s thoughts were interrupted when the maid knocked on the door and her mother called for her to enter. “Forgive me, ma’am, but there is a gentleman who has come to call.” The maid glanced at Elizabeth, and her heart instantly began to hammer. Could it be Mr Darcy?
She instantly sat up straighter, her mind in a whirl of activity. If it was Mr Darcy, there was only one reason he would be there. Could he really have come to suggest they continue in the engagement? She took a deep, steadying breath and rose from the well-used settee.
“Now, girls, be on your best behaviour,” their mother instructed, as if they were still girls being trained on how to entertain gentleman callers. Perhaps she needed the reminder after all, Elizabeth thought dismally. The state of her nerves was such that Elizabeth found herself running her hands down her skirt, then clasping her hands in front of her so she would not be tempted to wring them, nor pick at her nails nervously.
The minutes between the announcement and the maid showing the gentleman into the parlour seemed like an eternity. At last, Mr Bingley appeared in the doorway, smiling yet serious. He was quite alone. “Good morning, all of you. Mrs Bennet,” he began. He cleared his throat, turning his hat in hand for several moments. He seemed about to say something else, but her mother interrupted.
“It is so good of you to come for a visit, Mr Bingley.” Her mother moved to the side as if looking for someone else. “Is Mr Darcy not with you today?”
“No, he is not. He had some business to attend to,” Mr Bingley replied. He glanced at Jane, who met his gaze for only a moment before looking away, blushing and smiling at once. He took a deep breath, then plunged ahead once more. “I wonder, Mrs Bennet, if I might have an audience with Miss Jane Bennet? A private audience, that is?” he asked.
Elizabeth’s mother looked as if she might fall over in a dead faint. “Everybody out. Now,” she commanded. She turned, then took Jane’s hands and kissed them. “Not you, of course, my dear.” her mother ushered the younger girls out first, shooing them down the hall. “You may take all the time that is required, Mr Bingley. It is so good to see you,” she said. “Lizzy? Come along, my dear.” She waved Elizabeth out, while Jane looked at her with eyes wider than she had ever seen them, looking half-elated, half terrified.
She gave her sister an encouraging nod, then followed her mother out of the room. While the rest of her sisters and mother listened at the door, Elizabeth leaned against the corridor wall, waiting for the much-anticipated announcement that Mr Bingley would soon become her first brother-in-law.
As the minutes passed, she found she could not stay still and listen to her sister’s excited whisperings. Surely Mr Bingley and her sister would tell them the good news when they were ready. She walked down the hallway, out toward the foyer. Elizabeth looked out over the fields and farms, toward Netherfield Park. Mr Darcy had not come with Mr Bingley. Perhaps she had been foolish to hope. Had he already departed Meryton for his home in Derbyshire?
A quarter of an hour passed before the door suddenly opened and Elizabeth could hear her mother’s triumphant voice. “Oh, Mr Bennet! Lizzy! Do come!” she called. Elizabeth smiled and returned to the parlour, where Jane was crying happy tears and Mr Bingley beamed at them all. In the face of such a joyful sight, it was easy to give her warmest congratulations.
“Ah, I thought it would never happen!” Mrs Bennet sighed happily. “Did you think it would ever happen, Mr Bennet?” she asked, turning to her husband.
“I had every faith that our Jane would make a match worthy of her sweet and generous spirit,” her father said. He leaned in and kissed Jane on the cheek. “I am very happy,” he said.
Elizabeth went over to Mr Bingley and smiled, doing her best to keep her tears locked inside until she could be alone. “I am so happy for the both of you,” she said. “Jane — ” she said, but could not go on. To her horror, Elizabeth found that all her attempts at composure were not enough. If she were forced to speak another word aloud, she would certainly burst into tears.
Jane pressed her hand. “I know,” she whispered.
There was truly no blessing greater than being understood by those one loved most. Elizabeth embraced her sister with all her heart, grateful beyond measure for the chance to regain her composure.
With the benefit of a moment without speaking, she found it again. “I could not be more delighted for both of you,” Elizabeth said warmly, taking both of their hands. “Mr Bingley, though I cannot claim to be an impartial judge, I say you are truly gaining a treasure this day. You will take good care of her?” Upon looking at his honest, good-natured face, Elizabeth felt a little better. She must not be selfish. She must think of this moment not as losing a sister, but as gaining a brother.
“Upon my life, I vow it,” Mr Bingley said.
The words carried such conviction that Elizabeth had not the slightest doubt of his sincerity. Jane would have a splendid husband, indeed.
Yet she could not help but wonder how much of this would have been possible had Mr Darcy not played a hand in it. Had he encouraged Mr Bingley to come and propose? She might never know.
Even the delight of seeing her beloved sister so happy could not entirely ease Elizabeth’s heart. She stayed only long enough so as not to offend, or let any of the rest of her family know that she was in mourning. She then hurried out of the room, retrieved a shawl, and went outside to walk among the browning foliage. Elizabeth found a semblance of solace in her grey surroundings, feeling she was in good company. The cheerless trees and misting rain seemed a fitting accompaniment to her thoughts.
Was it not possible that she and Mr Darcy might have been just as happy together? Slowly, so slowly she had not realised it at first, he had gained all her heart. It seemed that he did not feel the same, and yet what might have been possible if she had only been honest with herself?
Perhaps there was nothing to be done, and Mr Darcy would always have been delighted to be freed from the engagement, but she did not believe it. If only she had seen him for what he truly was in time, affection might have grown between them equally. He might have come to love her, as she did him. He might even now be by her side.
But now, of course, it was too late.
