She was so weary of fighting despair, of trying to make sense of her life. How was she to ever feel peaceful again? Could she really subject Jane and even Mary to embarrassment, to place them in the awkward position of trying to explain a runaway sister at such a vulnerable time? If she outright refused the match, could she truly subject her family to ruin? Was Mr Goulding cruel enough to enforce his threats? For the first time, she considered the desperation that must have fuelled his dark promise. She had known him all her life; he had never been anything except kindly. Would there be any chance, before the betrothal announcement, to simply speak to him and ask him for reprieve? If he would not, could she summon the courage to do what was required?
The questions went round and round in her brain. Having eaten so little over the last two weeks and slept not at all in two days, that despite the frigid temperature, she fell fast asleep without answering any of them.
When Elizabeth awoke, it was full light. Both fireplaces were burning, but the flames were weak. That she had slept through someone entering and lighting both fires only showed how exhausted she had been. Muzzy-headed, she struggled to one side of the room and then the other, adding wood to keep the fires alive, something she had grown rather adept at doing. She scrubbed her face with her hands, taking several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
Had Mr Darcy been here himself while she slept? Had he watched over her for a time?
Do not be fanciful, she warned herself.He has always had the greatest respect for me and regard for my privacy. Yet despite that, she had the feeling that no servant had been here.
That was when she noticed the covered dishes.
There was an entire cold collation, crumpets and sliced roasted beef, ham, several different cheeses, shortbread, and some type of meat pasties—enough to feed ten distressed females.
A single tear slid down her cheek. This time he had left not simply a few treats, but an entire, hearty meal, as though he knew she desperately needed one.
Mr Darcy had come and gone; she was certain of it. It did not matter that she had not seen him, for as soon as she had awakened, reason returned, and Elizabeth knew he would never provide her with a reference to take on the work of a menial. How could she become a governess?Shehad never evenhada governess. She and her sisters had only learnt and studied as had suited their whims. While Elizabeth considered herself as intelligent as the next person, there were notable gaps in her education. No truly good home would chooseherto educate their precious children. Staring at her hands, she compared their condition to the competent, work-roughened ones of Mrs Hill. Her own soft skin testified to its ignorance of heavy labour.
I am not lazy, but neither am I stupid. I was raised as a lady and taught to manage a home, plan menus, supervise the needs of a large household, stitch, make polite conversation, and ensure my guests are welcomed and well fed.
“I can organise a village fête, but I can hardly organise a new station in life!”
To make such an enormous change would require assistance. The only person she could think to ask was her uncle, and she had not yet been successful in getting a letter to him. The first banns would be called before she could reach him, and it would put him in the awful position of defying her father. He might, possibly, do it, even though it would cause a rift, but, as Papa had pointed out, she would only be placing the burden of her care upon his shoulders. Mr Gardiner would never agree to help her find employment.
It was a temptation to stay hidden in the folly for as long as she could get away with it, but when all was said and done, she already had her answers. She would not allow her entire family to be ruined when it was within her power to prevent it. The markers had been called in. She was either brave enough to face the situation forthrightly or not the woman she had always thought herself.
Mr Goulding was not ridiculous; he was a kindly man she had always cared for and looked upon as a near relation, despite the actual distance in the blood connexion. He had been a widower for ten years and now had lost his only son, casting him into a desperate state of grief. Her father was in no position to negotiate with him. If she asked very carefully and with great sympathy, perhaps Mr Goulding might agree to wait a suitable mourning period. Elizabeth could say it was to keep up appearances on his end, and so the neighbourhood would not believe her a fortune hunter. Still, at his age, once the circumstances of the entail were known, it was unlikely that anyone would truly blame him for taking a wife so much his junior, or even think poorly of her for marrying him, since she had so little.
She felt weak, and her head ached. Slowly, methodically, she forced herself to eat some of the food Mr Darcy had provided. She would need her strength for what was to come.
Only after she had eaten did she notice the carved wooden writing desk. Beside it was perched a perfect yellow rose in a crystal bud vase.
The desk was a beautiful thing; she set it upon her lap and opened the compartments. She found everything needed for letter writing and several bound notebooks.
Setting it aside, Elizabeth wandered to the window. If it had snowed, she could not tell. Drops of water dripped off the leaves, and the sky was a murky grey gloom, but it was not raining. Somewhere, above those dark clouds, the sun shone—invisible at the moment, but there, nevertheless.
The morning passed slowly, and yet, too quickly. She knew her family might already be looking for her at home before she removed writing supplies from the pretty little lap desk, and began her letter.
Dear Mr Darcy,
I should have thanked you before this for the many little comforts you have provided during these last two weeks, but in truth, my head has been too bewildered, and even now, I cannot answer for the coherence of my thoughts. I have also known that I should put a stop to your generosity and any letter I write to you must be one which makes it clear that I can no longer accept your generosity, even though it is of a temporary—and enchanting—nature. I ought to have done it sooner, but I could not quite bear to. Nevertheless, I must do so now.
Before I continue this missive, I beg leave to relate how I spent the morning. First, I partook of the delicious meal you provided—I must say, the shortbread was the best I have eaten. I then sat in the warmth of gentle flames in the most comfortable chair ever constructed, propping my feet upon a perfectly sized footstool, and finished the novel thoughtfully left for my entertainment.Self-Controlhad a most pleasing conclusion, especially after all the convolutions poor Miss Montreville endured; however, I do wonder at her father’s dying of grief merely upon contemplation of his daughter’s vacillating defiance. My papa would not have lasted into his fourth decade, had filial obedience been a necessary element of longevity. I suppose the Bennets of Longbourn are resilient, if nothing else.
Oh, I nearly omitted an important correction. I climbed the stairs to the stone balconies you informed me held views of nothing and nowhere. You were mistaken. The vista is of ancient oaks guarding it from the sight of any who do not pay the price of finding it. Perhaps it is not a scene framed in classical beauty—both Longbourn and Netherfield are quite hidden—but in what I could not see, I could imagine a different view, perhaps even a different future than the one I have been dreading. If I cannot see it, that means it has not yet happened. Happiness might be hidden, and yet be on the horizon.
I spent this leisurely morning of reading wrapped in the loveliest, softest shawl in the world, and pretended—just this once, I promise—that it was your embrace keeping me warm and secure.
My father has informed me that my period of grace, such as it was, is at an end. I go with my family this evening to dinner at the home of my soon-to-be betrothed. The announcement will be made then, and the banns called beginning Sunday. The next time we meet—which I suppose may be at Jane’s wedding, for Mr Bingley mentioned you had agreed to stand up with him—I shall be known as Mrs Goulding.
I just want to say—the last two weeks have been the most caring and considerate I have ever experienced. I shall keep the rose and press it to remind me, during whatever comes, of my sincerest appreciation for all you have done. My book is filled and finished now.
I will only add, God bless you.
Elizabeth Bennet
* * *
She sanded and sealed the letter, placed it atop the writing desk, and set that upon the footstool where it would be obvious. Painstakingly, she packed away the crockery in the basket, folded the shawl, and banked the fires. Gently, she set the key to the folly on top of the letter.
