“Will you remain at Pemberley throughout the summer?” she asked, attempting to conceal her emotion.
“Most likely. The Matlocks return to London shortly, and then Bingley and his sisters shall follow. He told me he means to pause at Netherfield…”
It appeared as though he would add more, but the words faltered, and he said nothing further. Elizabeth mourned those that remained unspoken. Perhaps they concerned love—perhaps not even their own—and Mr Darcy had no wish to utter them aloud.
“Do you continue your journey?” he asked, though he was well acquainted with their plans.
“Yes. For another week, I believe. My aunt desires to visit some relations and old friends.”
“How nice. It is a pleasing country—” He paused, and then, meeting her gaze, added, “We too shall pass through Netherfield on our return to London.”
And with that, the moment passed. They danced again, or found one another in the crowd, yet no word of consequence was spoken between them thereafter.
The final day was composed of glances, missed occasions, and subtle disappointments—moments that might have drawn them nearer but were lost amidst company and silence.
Only Georgiana, with her open heart, gave voice to her sorrow.
“You must promise to visit us in London,” she said. “Our godmother, Lady Edwina, is always in residence, and you may remain as long as you please.”
Georgiana understood nothing of the unspoken feelings between her brother and Elizabeth. She wished only to keep a friend she valued. Yet in their case, such an invitation ought to come from Darcy himself, who merely watched from a distance, his heart troubled, his will uncertain.
He alone came to bid them farewell at the early hour the morning of their departure. As the carriage set out, Elizabeth cast one last look at the house that had so stirred her soul. She saw Mr Darcy mounted in the distance, already on horseback. His hands lay upon the saddle, his figure perfectly still, watching, unmoving, until the coach vanished in a veil of dust.
For Elizabeth, the joy ended there—upon the steps of Pemberley. Nothing that followed could soothe her regret or quiet the aching sense of loss. Perceiving her silent distress, her aunt and uncle resolved to curtail the remainder of their travels and return directly to Hertfordshire.
Chapter 7
The journey home was steeped in sadness. Mr Gardiner, having fallen into slumber for much of the way, left Elizabeth and her aunt to their conversation; yet even between them, there was little to say.
“I once believed Jane exaggerated her sorrow,” Elizabeth murmured at length, “that she adorned her suffering with too much feeling. But now I understand her entirely. I did not imagine that an emotion could bring forth real affliction—yet I feel as though I have been truly unwell.”
Mrs Gardiner’s heart was heavy for her niece. To have stood so near to a life so extraordinary, and to have refused it, was cruel indeed. She resolved to speak with her more fully, once the sharpness of her grief had begun to abate. Elizabeth must learn to temper her reactions, to meet life’s vicissitudes with less candour and greater caution. The truth—however unpalatable—remained: men seldom desired a wife who was both intelligent and independent of mind. If Elizabeth wished to marry, she would have to accept certain realities and govern her nature accordingly.
“I believe Mr Bingley may soon come to Longbourn,” Elizabeth said, in an attempt to divert her thoughts.
“Yes,” replied Mrs Gardiner, “but remember he is even now subject to the influence of his sisters. He may again adopt their judgement. Do not encourage Jane in any vain expectation. Should he come to Netherfield, let her discern his feelings for herself.”
“And if she no longer loves him?”
Mrs Gardiner smiled gently. “My dear, I do not think that possible. If he comes with intent, she shall accept him.”
As I should have done.The thought passed through Elizabeth’s mind with bitter clarity.Shall I ever feel this love again for another man?She could not bear to pursue the answer.
Mrs Gardiner had never known distress in matters of the heart. Her parents had encouraged her to marry, and little had been spoken in their home of passion or attachment. She had never been taught to seek love, nor to fear its absence. Her youth had been unsettled; although their principal residence was in London, they had passed nearly a year in Cardiff, another in Birmingham, and seldom had she enjoyed the society of girls of her own age. Mr Gardiner had been amiable and comely, and she had liked him at once when they met in Meryton whilst visiting mutual acquaintances. Their courtship had been brief, the sentiments moderate, and within a year of their marriage, her first child was born. Only when her Bennet nieces approached womanhood did she begin to grasp the true nature of that strange affliction called love.
With Jane, she had wept. Her grief had been quiet, constant, and sincere. Elizabeth, however, was of a different spirit. She understood too well the interplay of manner and motive between a man and a woman. Mrs Gardiner had no doubt that Mr Darcy harboured affection still. And yet she couldeasily imagine him hesitating. Once the vehemence of Kent had passed, he had likely considered their respective stations and the practical impediments. Politeness abounded at Pemberley—friendship too—but their sojourn there had been touched with unreality. It was a place apart from the world. In London, they would not meet the same reception.
Lady Matlock would not pay calls upon Gracechurch Street, nor would Mrs Gardiner impose herself upon the drawing-room of a countess. Their acquaintance might extend to a bow at the opera or a nod in a theatre box—but it would go no further. Elizabeth was remarkable, of that she was certain. But she was still a Bennet, and a marriage to her would be regarded as a misalliance by Mr Darcy’s kindred.
Mrs Gardiner felt a growing anguish on her niece’s behalf. To be so near to such happiness—and then to refuse it—was a bitter trial. Had they once been wed, they might have secured their place in society by degrees. But now, with reflection, Mr Darcy might well determine the cost too great.
She could find no words that might ease Elizabeth’s mind. Even Mr Bingley had faltered in his attachment to Jane—and he was the son of a tradesman, as she was. And yet, wealth had raised his hopes and altered his aspirations.
“Do you think I ought to forget him?” Elizabeth asked, her voice low.
“I believe it wise not to nourish such hopes,” Mrs Gardiner answered, tears gathering in her eyes despite her effort to conceal them.
“I understand.” Elizabeth spoke with effort, her throat dry. She had hoped, perhaps, to find a seed of hope in her aunt’s reply. But the truth lay silent between them. She might continue to dream of Mr Darcy and grieve—or she might turn her thoughts elsewhere, and consider the prospect of a different future. For the rest of the journey, she permitted herself todwell a little longer on the last image she had of him, standing beside his horse at Pemberley’s gate. But she resolved that, once returned to Longbourn, she would direct her attention to her younger sisters and occupy her mind with less perilous concerns.
