“Yes, indeed—dear Tilda! She plans to come to town for my wedding. I fear I became somewhat reclusive in recent years and have not seen my family for some time.” Suzanne sighed, though her smile soon returned. “Still, what is fifty miles of good road when one has a well-sprung carriage and the means to travel as often as one pleases?”
Elizabeth turned the thought over in her mind.Shehad access to a carriage—her husband’s—which remained stored in the Longbourn carriage house. The Bennet carriage, being larger and newer, was used most often. It would not be difficult to take Elinor to the sea. Perhaps a holiday was in order.
Mr Darcy crossed the room to join them and took a seat beside Lady Westland. As they spoke together, Miss Bingley edged nearer to Elizabeth. “Your friend is everything polite and genteel. Such condescension!” The compliment rang hollow, and Elizabeth could not quite suppress the twitch of a smile.
“Lady Westland is the best of women. I could never ask for a more faithful friend. When my husband died, it was she whom I first called. I knew she would have the answers I needed—she would know what to do next.”
“You were very young when you married. You cannot be more than one-and-twenty now.”
Elizabeth nodded, untroubled by the intrusive question. “I was sixteen. My husband died before a year of marriage had passed.”
A flicker of genuine dismay crossed Miss Bingley’s face. “How dreadful,” she murmured softly. “I cannot imagine such a situation.” The look faded almost at once, replaced by her habitual composure, as though she had remembered that sympathy did not suit a rival. “Did you know Mr Darcy in town?”
“I did,” Elizabeth saw no reason for evasion. “It has been wonderful to renew our acquaintance.” She lifted her teacup with graceful ease. “Have you known the gentleman long?”
Miss Bingley straightened, every inch the lady of consequence. “Charles has known Mr Darcy for three years. Their friendship is nearly that of brothers. In fact, it would not surprise me if one day they could call themselves brothers in truth.”
How this insufferable social climber so often tempted Elizabeth to laughter, she could scarcely comprehend, though she strove once more to suppress her mirth.
“Oh? I had no idea.” So that was Miss Bingley’s design—to speak as though an attachment existed. The lady might as well have declared herself engaged. It was absurd; women did not make offers of marriage, yet Miss Bingleyseemed determined to act as though there were an understanding already.
Before she could continue, the visit drew to its close. The Netherfield party rose, and Elizabeth realised she had spent the entire call within a smaller circle than she had intended. Mr and Mrs Hurst seemed content enough, thanking Mrs Bennet for her hospitality before following the rest of their party to the door.
“Well, that was interesting,” Suzanne declared, moving to take a seat beside Elizabeth. “Miss Bingley is quite a character! I dare say she is debating whether she ought to seek my favour.”
“She has already deemed you worthy. I am the genuine issue. She has long thought poorly of me—and of my family. Her disdain is apparent whenever we are in company. Now that my superior connexions are known, she cannot decide whether to persist in her contempt or to court my good opinion.” Elizabeth sighed and went on. “Much of her behaviour, I believe, is a mere façade. Yet there have been moments—one in particular—when she has shown more sense than I expected.”
“Her pursuit of Darcy is doomed to fail.” Suzanne’s smile was knowing. “I saw it from the moment they entered the room. She wants him—that much is certain.”
“And yet, she will be disappointed. I heard Mr Darcy say so himself.” Elizabeth quickly related a conversation she had overheard at the assembly, the two friends laughing together as she recalled the details. The memory of her panic that night, however, soon stifled Elizabeth’s amusement. “Suzanne,” she asked in a hushed tone, “how did you make peace with your memories? How did you learn to leave them behind so they no longer ruled your future?”
Suzanne grew thoughtful. “I cannot say they always remain entirely in the past,” she said at length. “Our experiences shape us—for better orworse. It is how we choose to live afterwards that determines who we become. My past refines me—it does not define me. By turning my thoughts to what I have gained—my strengths, my accomplishments, and what I have learnt—those who wronged me lose their power. The memories still have the power to sting, and at times they take me unawares, but the love I have found stands between me and their bite.”
They sat in silence as Elizabeth absorbed her friend’s wise words. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I shall think on what you have said.” In truth, she already understood. The fears still held her fast; why else did memories haunt her or the thought of affection alarm her?Because love leads to marriage, and in marriage, a woman is no longer her own mistress.Once married, her very person became her husband’s—his property.
Another thought pressed on her. Though Mr Darcy had not spoken his heart, she sensed his regard—that he desired more than a friendship. Was she to let her past forever dictate her future? Could she learn to release her pain and trust herself to hope once more—trust him? Did she wish it? She was coming to believe it was so.
Darcy
“I never imagined theBennetscould have such exalted connexions!” Miss Bingley exclaimed, eyes alight with astonishment. “A countess!”
“Dowager countess,” Mr Bingley corrected mildly.
“Sheis as good as a countess,” his sister protested. “She is widowed, and her son is the earl. Though I understand she is soon to surrender her courtesy title. Lady Westland told me she is betrothed.”
Darcy was not listening. It had been a pleasure to see Lady Westland again. Despite the many childhood quarrels of their youth, she had long since become a valued friend—capable, intelligent, and sincere. It was no surprise that she and Elizabeth should have formed so close an attachment. Both were widowed young, both left with a child, and both were remarkable in grace and understanding.
Marriage had not been kind to the young countess. Lord Westland had been unfaithful, imperious, and mean. Darcy remembered how Lady Matlock had lamented her sister’s suffering before his death, cursing Suzanne’s mother for consenting to the match.
A sudden realization made Darcy frown.Could Elizabeth’s own husband have been similar?The notion startled him, and his first impulse was to dismiss it outright. But Richard’s warnings concerning Fiennes echoed in his mind, and he could not deny the possibility.If Elizabeth had not loved her husband, why did she persist in wearing her mourning pendant? And why, after so long, did she remain unmarried?
The latter question answered itself. She had no need of a husband’s protection, and a woman of Elizabeth’s spirit might well prefer having sole control over her own affairs. For one accustomed to self-command, the prospect of yielding to another’s will would hold little charm. The laws of society did few favours to women; once married, their property and liberty were no longer their own.
“Have you met her betrothed?” Miss Bingley’s ingratiating voice intruded on his thoughts, and the delicate thread of reflection slipped away.
“No, I have not. I understand Mr Blythe is a man of fortune with an estate and lands adjoining the earldom.”
“How fortunate for Lady Westland,” Miss Bingley observed. “She will not be obliged to remove far from her son’s inheritance.”
