They were strolling back towards Longbourn. Elizabeth gathered flowers from the roadside—wild rose, oxeye daisy, harebell, and scabious—as she always did when accompanying her father. He followed her with tenderness, though not without sadness, for he knew that such happy moments between them would soon become rare.
His eyes, perhaps, were dimmed, for Elizabeth said, holding out the fragrant bouquet, “Do not be foolish, dearest Father. We shall always walk together, even if, from time to time, you must come to London or to Hampstead for that purpose.”
And he only nodded.
But their moment of quiet was soon broken, for as they entered the garden, they already heard cheerful cries. They came not only from the Gardiner children, but also from the ladies, whose meetings were ever noisy and merry.
“Fortunately, the Gardiners are Mr Bingley’s guests at Netherfield!” Mr Bennet whispered, and Elizabeth struck him lightly on the arm.
“You are unkind, and I ought not to give you my bouquet.”
Yet she arranged with care the bouquet in the vase on Mr Bennet’s library table, which had been waiting all summer for Elizabeth’s flowers from the side of the road.
She smiled above the flowers, for Mrs Gardiner was calling her to join the ladies, who waited with eager curiosity for tales of the fashionable world that now sent its daughters to the Clinton Academy.
“You should have seen the faces of Mr Bingley’s sisters when Jane told them about Elizabeth,” she said.
“They knew of the Academy?” asked Mrs Bennet, whoever spoke of it as though it had been Elizabeth’s wealthy husband, and not the establishment wherein her daughter was employed.
“Jane took care to relate in full to Mr Bingley her sister’s success, but he was already informed,” said Mrs Gardiner.
“How so?” asked Mrs Phillips, in her somewhat naïve manner.
“He is a friend of Mr Darcy,” replied her sister-in-law briefly, hoping the matter might rest there. Yet her hope was vain; for from that moment commenced a most animated discussion respecting Mr Darcy among the two sisters, Mrs Bennet, and Mrs Phillips—a conversation which Elizabeth could neither moderate nor escape, and which she endured until Mrs Gardiner proposed a walk towards Netherfield, that they might arrive before dinner.
“How are you?” Mrs Gardiner asked, her voice marked by evident concern, though she tried to conceal upon her countenance the anxiety that had taken hold of her.
Elizabeth, unlike Jane, was obliged to endure her unhappiness alone—a situation made the more difficult as she was forced to hide her pain beneath smiles that often refused to appear.
“It is hard,” she said with sincerity. “But as the separation is final and there is no hope, I must endeavour to recover as quickly as I can. Yet it is difficult when news from London seems to reach me at every turn through Mr Bingley—”
“Autumn will come; things will settle…you shall see. Besides, you will meet only at Jane’s wedding. I understand that he is to stand as Mr Bingley’s witness—”
“Jane wishes me to be hers,” Elizabeth whispered. “But what if he should come to the church with his fiancée?”
“Do not speak such nonsense. That man respects you and is a gentleman of honour. He would never behave so.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I never thought I should await Jane’s wedding with fear. I dread being near him, for I am afraid that those around might perceive what I feel.”
“You shall stay apart, with your family. The ceremony will last an hour, and you may absent yourself from the breakfast if you wish. No one will notice, or if they do, I shall find means to excuse you.”
Elizabeth nodded. Yet somewhere in her heart she longed to see him once more—only once. She could not renounce that opportunity, however painful it might be to behold him at Jane’s wedding, which might have been her own. She knew such thoughts were useless and perilous, for they sustained her unhappiness, yet they were beyond her will to master.
“Now I wish to speak with you of something else,” Elizabeth said to her aunt. And as everyone was preparing to go to Netherfield for dinner, they took advantage of the bustle to walk together, while Mrs Phillips—who had no children—happily watched over the four young Gardiners, assisted by Mrs Bennet.
“When Jane was first at Netherfield, ill with her cold, I was so anxious that I went to see her the next morning, and as the carriage was engaged, I set out across the fields…” Elizabeth stopped.
Mrs Gardiner looked towards her, but Elizabeth seemed not to notice the glance. Her aunt saw that she was changed—slenderer, more graceful; and now, taking such care with her dress, she appeared more womanly than ever. Without a doubt, her niece had matured, and the sorrow she carried within her had rendered her both more fragile and more beautiful.
“I entered the dining-room at Netherfield, and they were all at breakfast—Mr Bingley and his family, and Mr Darcy. I ought to have known then that he loved me; in those days, I should have laid aside that spirit of confrontation I so enjoy when speaking with a gentleman, and have shown more interest in him as a man. I was attentive to his words, to every inflexion of his voice, ready to begin a battle of wit, when that morning he looked at me with amusement, for my hem was soiled with mud. Caroline, or the other, had noticed it with disdain—yet also with a sort of admiration, for I had crossed the fields to reach them, and my cheeks were flushed from the effort. Yes, it was admiration—”
“I shall never tire of stopping you when you begin to speak of him. You will not forget him in this way. You said you wished to tell me something.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, struggling to free herself from the grasp of memory. “Yes. Mr Clinton wishes to make me his heiress—to leave me the Academy.”
The news fell with such force that Mrs Gardiner was left in a state of astonishment difficult to describe.
“Wait—there is more. There are legal impediments, though he has no children. So the simplest way for me to become not only the principal but also the mistress of the Academy would be to marry him.”
