“Because I have never seen the sea,” she replied. “And Uncle Gardiner has resolved to grant me that long-cherished wish. Lyme Regis presents itself as the natural choice.”
She offered no further explanation, but her meaning was clear enough: the future she had once imagined had been quietly set aside.
Mr Bennet, moved by an anguish he could neither express nor relieve, merely nodded. He kissed her brow with tender solemnity and let her go.
Despite Elizabeth’s steady resolve to carry on, it was no easy task to accept that Mr Darcy no longer belonged in her life. At times, she imagined travelling to London, ostensibly to visitLady Oakham, though in truth she was drawn by an anxious curiosity: to know where he was, what he was doing, and with whom he now shared his days.
Yet Lady Oakham, even though she had written, had not once mentioned Mr Darcy. Instead, she spoke of Lady Matlock’s unexpected desire to receive Elizabeth and Mary in London come autumn—a curious invitation that stirred in Elizabeth a strange, flickering vision: Mary united with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and through that union, bound irrevocably to Mr Darcy and his family.
And how, Elizabeth wondered, could she endure meeting him again—if, by then, he were married to another?
∞∞∞
“You cannot imagine how overjoyed I am for your happiness,” Elizabeth said, smiling with all her heart at Jane’s bright face. “And to find you so wise…that is the best news I could receive!”
“Oh, I am not so wise,” Jane admitted with a slightly mischievous smile. “We often find ourselves alone, talking and talking, then…we kiss. Oh, how can I convey to you what a kiss means? At first, I was afraid and timid as his lips drew near mine. However, he gradually helped me overcome my fears, and my lips parted for him…” Jane whispered.
Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted, drawn irresistibly to the image of Mr Darcy’s lips upon her own. He had pressed reverent kisses to her hand—only that, and yet the intimacy of the gesture had sent a tremor through her, as though poised upon the edge of some inward combustion she could neither govern nor fully comprehend. To imagine his lips upon hers was beyond daring; it was a vision she did not allow herself to form.
“And?” She pressed her sister for more.
“And next week, after visiting our church, we shall leave for London with Papa and Mama and go to his church.”
“To hear the banns.”
“Yes, and we shall marry when you return from your journey.”
“Are you not afraid that something might happen?”
“That he might leave again? No. He is my man, and we are counting the days together.”
With that, their conversation came to an end. Elizabeth smiled into the darkness, aware that Jane had forgotten—again—to ask about her story. But she did not mind.
Jane was in such a state of happiness that it would have been impossible for her to share in Elizabeth’s sorrow. And Elizabeth understood her entirely. Instead, she wrote to Charlotte every day, and her friend’s letters helped her view the future with a touch more clarity.
Even when Charlotte wrote things clearly borrowed from Mr Collins—remarks about the difference in their social circles and how difficult it was to adapt to change—Elizabeth did not take offence. After all, those around Mr Darcy had treated her with genuine warmth, and had she married him, they would have received her with kindness.
Yet she bore no resentment towards Charlotte, whose honest opinions, even when they stung, kept Elizabeth grounded in reality. She had lost him, and there was nothing more to be done.
∞∞∞
Unfortunately, she could wholly control her dreams. Often in the night, and sometimes even during the day, shedreamt about a carriage stopping at Longbourn and Mr Darcy stepping out, his face filled with love, just like it had been on the night of the ball. But every time she opened her eyes, reality pulled her back to loneliness and longing.
More than anything, she wished to know whether that woman’s plan had succeeded and whether Mr Darcy was already engaged. However, whatever had happened, she hoped for him all the happiness in the world—even if it did not include her. Deep within herself she still hoped that his family might help him find a solution before it was too late, before he stood at the altar beside a woman who desired nothing but his fortune.
And indeed, help came swiftly from someone no one would have expected, as she finally found out two weeks after their arrival at Longbourn.
Mr Darcy did not appear at Longbourn, but a private courier from London handed her a letter. Her heart leapt painfully, hoping it might be from Mr Darcy, but it was from Lady Oakham. Elizabeth leant briefly against the hall table to steady her racing heart, then, with quiet resolve, fled to her room, far from everybody else.
With a tone poised somewhere between sarcasm and satisfaction, Lady Oakham recounted, in vivid detail, how, only two days prior, Lady Catherine had stormed into the Matlock residence, her voice trembling with indignation, lamenting the scandalous behaviour of London ladies in pursuit of wealthy husbands. In the same theatrical way, she had shut herself in the library with her brother and sister-in-law.
It was unmistakably clear that Lady Catherine had come on account of Mr Darcy and that she had learnt of the whole affair from Lord or Lady Matlock. I cast a reproachful glance at Anne, but her face, serene and guileless, betrayed no sign of foreknowledge regarding her mother’s impending visit.After our return from Bath, Anne resumed her place in our household at Darcy’s express insistence. And we all understood that, amid the storm of emotions he endured, he desired no witnesses.
Anne knew nothing of her mother’s intentions, and indeed, the poor girl appeared terrified by Lady Catherine’s arrival. As you might imagine, I felt a deep and sudden pity for her, yet my interest was utterly focused on what news Lady Catherine brought. I would have given much to be in that library, to witness the storm unfold and hear every word exchanged. While we waited for their return, not a syllable passed between us—Anne and I—seated in silence, both beset with anxiety, though likely for differing reasons.
Less than an hour later, Lady Catherine departed in the same tempestuous manner in which she had arrived, this time accompanied by Lord Matlock, a development that only deepened my apprehension and curiosity, I must confess, in all honesty.
But the cheerful countenance of Lady Matlock upon her return to the drawing-room brought a measure of relief. With a lightness in her step, she shared that Lady Catherine had left with Lord Matlock, intent upon confronting Lady Olivia in person and defending, according to her own fiery declaration, the union between Darcy and her daughter. Imagine my relief that he could finally be saved from that malicious young lady, and Anne’s deep and continuing embarrassment told us that she did not intend to marry her cousin, no matter what her mother would do.
