What strength I had—my stoicism and my stubborn persistence in the face of a reality I did not like—was then applied. I had thought to share what solidity I could, but in truth, my own resolve was the beneficiary of a different kind of strength, for I found myself supported by the quiet dignity and gentle acceptance with which Elizabeth Bennet met this ending. I could only smile with tender regret to discover that she could, in fact, be a restful woman.
She packed her things with little noise. I knew because I heard the trunks brought down; yet, unlike the grand disruption wrought by Caroline Bingley when she had her things packed up to go, I sensed nothing but a serene ritual of readiness underway above my head.
She spent the remaining hours she had left in coaxing my sister to laugh through what might at any minute turn into tears, in speaking companionably with Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Annesley, in enticing Georgiana’s kittens to play, and in diverting with smiles and small jests anyone who came into the upstairs parlor to serve her. Her principal concern, however, was to shower Mrs. Jennings with as much of her affection as she could, and though the lady did not know whether she was “Hannah” or “Mrs. Darcy” or some hired attendant, she knew, at least for the moment, that she was loved by this dark-haired woman.
On the afternoon preceding her morning departure, rather than handing out impartial tokens of money, Elizabeth gave each of the maids gifts bought from the sundries shop in Lambton and included Sam and Maggie in her largesse. From the reactions to these humble tokens, one would have supposed she had given them each a gold guinea, and I learned from her that kindness is worth far more than coins, and money is never an appropriate substitute for gratitude. I found myself marveling, in fact, at how much she had taught me, and I looked back on a picture of myself not six months ago in amazed disgust.
These reflections were quickly set aside. They were so uninteresting as to be irrelevant and so uncomfortable that I wondered how I had spent years upon years engaged in such a stupid occupation as thinking of my likes and dislikes, my comforts and needs, my aches and pains—myopinions!
After dinner, I saw plainly in my sister’s forlorn face that she was in need of diversion, and I dealt out the cards in much the same way I had done so long ago. In fact, only a month had passed, but so much had happened it felt like the far distant past when Sir Hugh had come to tell me that vagrants were seen on the road north of Lambton.
I did not want to shock Mr. Gardiner by playing for stakes, so we wagered straws. My guard was so lowered, my distraction so complete, that Georgiana won the first two hands, and for half an hour at least, she forgot to be sad.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Annesley and Mr. Gardiner were at the backgammon board, and Elizabeth sank into my copy ofMeditations.I wondered that she would read Aurelius, but then remembered her father. Whatever her social education lacked, her intellectual understanding had been deeply nourished by such a scholarly rascal, and with a touch of fondness, I thought of Mr. Bennet’s perpetual love affair with irony. If not for him, my favorite book would not now also beherbook—ourbook.
Throughout this prolonged ritual of leaving, I pondered what to do about my own love affair. Long gone was any inclination to escape.
I could no longer wonder about her feelings. She was at the very leastattachedto me, as she was to everyone and everything around me, my way of living, and the rhythm of the estate. Had I made her an offer, the outcome seemed certain.
But through prolonged exposure to her, I had learned that a certain delicacy should be applied. Elizabeth was at Pemberley almost under duress, was in the company of an uncle who gave off the air of someone come to repair the damage done by her own faulty reasoning, and was burdened by her deep concern for an elderly relation. She was already driving a team of six, per se, and it did not feel right to add an additional pair with their ribbons and harnesses to be managed. An offer of marriage was no small prospect.
It did not feel fair, in other words, to press her for a response she would almost be obliged to give in the affirmative. She had been the recipient of my intervention in a terrible situation and then the beneficiary of my affluent hospitality, and because of her fiercely independent nature, she would conclude she owed me anything I asked of her. She was self-reliant in the extreme; what she took, she would unquestionably pay for.
I did not want to be paid. I wanted my love to be what she most wanted in the world, a gift so completely available it should be freely and joyfully received.
And so I would wait—albeit unwillingly and impatiently—but I would wait for a more auspicious moment. I even entertained a superstitious notion that I would somehowknowwhat to do and when to do it.
Thus, the following morning I said goodbye to her with reasonable serenity. This was nothing more than a brief separation, not a terminal ending to our love story. Georgiana, however, who was not privy to the inner workings of our history, could not endure the farewell and excused herself abruptly at the doorway after the lady kissed her one last time.
Meanwhile, I had thought that perhaps Elizabeth might like to say goodbye toherpuppy, that to see it would give her a touch of comfort, so I had asked the kennel master to bring it for that purpose. As planned, he came around the corner of the house at the ideal moment—just as Elizabeth was to step into the coach.
However, even as I congratulated myself on that perfect gesture of regard, I was shown how badly I had miscalculated the effect of one little dog. The lady scooped it up and held it in the air above her face, and as she did so, all of her resolution, her dignity, and her carefully curated calm came crashing down.
I saw the instant she crumbled and even took a step forward out of instinct, but before I could reach her, she had begged her uncle’s pardon for having forgotten something and flashed past me with her face a blur of erupting tears as she swept into the house and up the stairs.
Mr. Gardiner looked a touch mortified and more than a little annoyed. I shook his hand again, and as he entered the coach to await Elizabeth’s return, he spoke to my butler.
“Mr. Parker, I would be in your debt if you could hurry my niece along. The horses should not be kept waiting.”
I followed my butler into the house, caught his eye, and said grimly, “Five minutes.”
Then I, too, ran up to the gallery where I knew I would find her.
I had never in my life seen such a scene of tragedy, not even on the stage enacted by the greatest actors of our time. Her bonnet had been flung aside and her skirts pooled around her where she had fallen onto her knees, draped almost symbolically against a window out of which she could not fly.
The sounds of her sobs were excruciating to my ears, and I lifted her off the floor as though to do so would make them stop. Once again, I found myself crouched before her, imploringly asking, “What has happened?” Indeed, her grief was so extreme I wondered whether perhaps it had a cause other than simply leaving Pemberley.
She tried to rally. “If only I had not seen Queenie,” she cried in the disjointed half-sobs of the bereaved.
“Who?”
“The runt. I love her so—”
Oh lord. I had no idea the dog had a name. What an imbecile! I could only think of one thing to do.
“I can send her with you if you like.”
She stiffened and irritably exclaimed, “This is not a moment to be rational, sir,” before burying her nose in her handkerchief and mumbling about Mrs. Bennet’s dislike of dogs.
