Darcy had a feeling that his love for Elizabeth would continue to haunt him until the end of his days.
Chapter 21
“Would you excuse me, Lizzy, for just a moment?” Jane asked as she tried to skirt around Elizabeth, who had scooted her chair too far from the desk to allow anyone else to move about the shared room. She pressed herself against the tiny writing desk to let Jane pass. Her little work area, if it could even be classified as such owing to its tiny size, was in the middle of her mother and Jane’s shared quarters. They had graciously found a small corner for her. Her sleeping pallet doubled as a cushion for the window seat during the day. With only two bedrooms in the cottage, they had been forced to rearrange things to make room for her.
Jane sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out her mending basket. “Will I bother you if I stay and do some sewing?” she asked.
“No, you are never a bother, dear Jane,” she replied, suppressing a sigh. By no means was she unhappy to be home. She had dearly missed her sisters and mother. Only, the ache in her heart and the longing to be near Mr Darcy had not abated.
Elizabeth hoped it would lessen with time. So far, after nearly three weeks, it had only grown. She was learning just how slow a death the heart endured.
There was at least one comfort to be found. After this, she would be able to write much more genuinely about lost love.
“But neither am I a comfort,” Jane said after a long pause. It was not a question, but a statement.
Elizabeth turned, putting down her quill. “I did not say that.”
“You did not have to, Lizzy. You may have been gone for long months, but you forget how well we know each other. I can still tell when you are unhappy.” Jane did not look up from her mending, working the needle expertly while they talked. “You are pining.”
Elizabeth held back a gasp. She had not breathed a word of her feelings for Mr Darcy. So how did Jane know? “I do not know what you could possibly be referring to.” She gave a short laugh to try to put her sister off the scent. “I am only having a difficult time adjusting to life in the cottage. You know I love all our sisters dearly — I would give my life for them if it were required. But I cannot focus with Mary’s constant sermons and laments that she cannot have a piano anymore. Nor can I bear up under Lydia and Kitty’s whining. Why does Mama not allow them to go out into society again?”
“There is no money to spend on new clothes, as would be required now that the girls have grown so much. And the disgrace of not being able to afford the latest fashions deters Mama from allowing anyone to go out. Or so she says.” Jane sighed. “I do not know how she expects the girls to find husbands.”
“None of you will find husbands if you stay locked inside this cottage. We must find a way to convince her to reenter society.”
Jane sighed again, looking at Elizabeth. “And what of you? Do you not wish to marry as well?”
“No man would want me when they found out that I am the notorious Mrs Laurence. And I am unwilling to share that secret with anyone, lest they use it against the family.” Elizabeth closed the little lid of the glass inkwell and went to the window seat. She plopped down on her folded bed pallet and huffed with frustration. “I am a spinster in the making.”
“If you say so,” Jane replied. She pinned her with a knowing glance. “What of Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth was taken aback. “What of him?”
Jane let her hands and her sewing fall into her lap. “Do not toy with me, Lizzy. I know you care for him. You spoke so highly of him in your letters.”
Elizabeth drew her feet up under her legs, as if curling in on herself would protect her heart from all its bitter disappointment. “I esteem him. And he is amiable. How foolish I was when we first met! I thought him proud then, but I have come to learn he has no improper pride. On the contrary, he has a warm and generous spirit.” She nodded. “Yes, I do not see how anyone could help but respect him.”
“That is all well and good. But it is more than respect that fuels your pining, Lizzy. You are in love with him.”
Elizabeth huffed to herself. Her older sister was usually such a gentle soul. Why must she become relentless just in time to pursue the topic Elizabeth least wanted to discuss? She hung her head, not wishing Jane to see the hopeless longing in her eyes. “Why does it matter what I feel for him? Mr Darcy has ten thousand pounds a year and the finest estate I have ever seen. You can easily imagine what his family and all his friends expectfor him — at the least, a woman of outstanding connections and impressive fortune, if not with a noble title. I need not say how far I am from any such claims.” Elizabeth let out a frustrated sigh, hating the tears that pricked her eyes at the thought of how hopeless it all was. “Besides, if he were to find out what I do, he would never want to see or speak to me again, let alone allow me to continue my friendship with his sister.”
“How do you know?” Jane asked. “You did not give him a chance. You just ran away. Oh, Lizzy, I can well understand how frightened you must have been, but you cannot know what the Darcys might have done, had you trusted them with the truth. They are your friends. Perhaps they would understand.”
“Mr Darcy would never forgive me for lying to him, and I have lied again and again. I have to lie to almost everyone I meet. Do you understand what it is to live under that kind of pressure?” Elizabeth took a deep breath, not wanting to burden Jane with her angry words, for her gentle sister certainly deserved no reproach. But she could not seem to stop. All the pressure and anguish came bubbling out in a torrent. “Do you know the weight that has been on me for the last two years? Either I am scribbling to ensure I reach Mr Tilney’s deadlines, or I lie awake worrying that you and the rest of our sisters and mother will not have enough food on the table. Or I am wondering if the rent will be paid on time.”
Jane did not protest her raised voice or counter with her own worries, which, as the most sensible inhabitant of the little cottage, must have been considerable. She only nodded and gestured for Elizabeth to go on.
Elizabeth stood and paced across the room, which was very short indeed, as the space provided only allowed for about four steps before she had to turn and go back the other way. Shethrew her hands up in the air in exasperation. “I do not have time to worry about whether some man will someday be able to overlook my vulgar profession as a notorious novelist and lower himself to marry me.”
Jane remained perfectly calm even as Elizabeth railed on. “People can surprise us sometimes.”
Elizabeth sighed. Jane was ever the optimist. It was easier for her to let the subject lie than to get her hopes up, only to have them dashed. She strode over to the writing desk and sat down again. There was no sense arguing with Jane, who always thought the best of everyone.
To Elizabeth’s considerable relief, Jane pursued the subject no further. “How is the novel coming?”
Elizabeth felt a spike of guilt at the question. Her hero continued to insist on transforming into Mr Darcy at every opportunity. It seemed the work of Sisyphus to keep his characterisation as she had intended it. “It is coming along slowly, but surely. I hope to have the manuscript ready to deliver to Mr Tilney within the next few weeks.”
“So soon? That is wonderful news,” Jane said. “Have I told you how much I enjoyed your second novel, Lizzy? It was inspired!”
