That's What Makes It Love Page 13

  Elizabeth sniffed, grieved at the nature of his cold, heartless proposal. True, he did enumerate her qualities – but what of love? And what of kindness and of feelings and of passion?

  She swiped vigorously against her streams of tears.

  “Is this your answer, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Sir?”

  “You do not reply.” He sniffed. Perhaps he was crying too. “It is – expected, of course. A hearty lady as yourself could hardly be anticipated to accept a proposal from a lacking man.”

  “Mr. Darcy –”

  “I shall go back.” He stood, wobbling only slightly before finding his footing. Her hands hovered, mid-air, before they could reach far enough to help him.

  She sniffed again to calm her voice. “Sir, the sky is dark. The path to Netherfield is difficult to navigate without –”

  “Do you believe the light and dark to matter to me, Elizabeth?” There was a pleading tone in his voice, a helplessness.

  She shook her head, before sniffing again.

  “You alone matter,” he muttered – before he scrambled away.

  • • •

  “They have come! Oh, Jane, they have come!” Mama’s delight was obvious to all as she peered out the window – Lydia and Kitty by her sides.

  Elizabeth swallowed and lowered her head – shielding her face from the light.

  Despite his every protest, she had quietly walked behind Mr. Darcy last night all the way to Netherfield’s grounds. It had been difficult to watch him struggle, difficult to bear the thought that a man so resilient in his mind and heart would suffer so much by way of his body.

  But, perhaps, it was his very physical limitations that enabled what was within to grow.

  “Mr. –” She had paused her words halfway more than once.

  She ought to be thankful – truly – that he had not seemed to notice.

  Watching him arrive – and the fanfare that ensued – had rendered her unusually melancholy. Any sadness at his rejection of her assistance had become further depressing at the sight of Miss Bingley flying to Mr. Darcy’s aid.

  Elizabeth sniffed, even now, at the memory, despite the blessing of the light of day.

  “It is wonderful to see them coming.” Kitty sighed from the window.

  “Mama, dears, do not act this way, please – I am not –” Jane blushed prettily from her seat, the fresh flowers harvested today framing her like a goddess.

  One wedding often brought with it another.

  It was not merely Mama who expected Mr. Bingley to confirm the date of his nuptials soon.

  “Mr. Charles Bingley, Miss Caroline Bingley.” The announcement came to an expectant room.

  Elizabeth waited before she lifted her face. Anxiety swirled within her – and expressed itself in a polite, forced smile.

  “Mr. Bing –”

  The other women overwhelmed and overtook her civil greeting without further prompting.

  Frankly, Elizabeth was grateful to withdraw.

  “Miss Bingley, you look wonderful!”

  “Mr. Bingley, dear, you simply must come –”

  “Such beautiful fabric –”

  “I apologize –”

  “You are too kind.”

  The rapid exchange of words provided respite for Elizabeth – an eye of a storm in which to pause and think.

  When the initial rush subsided, she was the first to speak.

  “Mr. Bingley, will your friend and his sister join us today?”

  Mr. Bingley turned obediently at the address – and regarded Elizabeth with a surprising dose of pity in his eyes.

  “Mr. and Miss Darcy have – returned,” he said, shortly.

  “Returned,” Elizabeth echoed, a sense of hollowness beginning to latch on to her heart.

  “Home. London – or Pemberley – he did not say.”

  Elizabeth did not nod her head until ten seconds later, when the simplicity and weight of Mr. Bingley’s words fully imprinted themselves upon her mind.

  “I – thank you, Mr. Bingley.” She tried her best to ignore the smirk displayed on Caroline Bingley’s face.

  Jane’s fiancé nodded, kindness in his eyes, and returned his attentions to the oldest sister present.

  Elizabeth sat where she was, neglected needlework in hand, and watched the events unfolding before her with pained, unseeing eyes.

  Why did he leave? Why did they leave?

  Did her betrayal, however unintended, hurt her new friends so keenly that they felt justified in a departure without so much as a word of leave?

  Elizabeth sniffed, unable to comprehend her own life.

  In fact, three hours later, as the family celebrated the confirmation of Jane’s wedding date – an event that was declared as certain to compare favorably to Charlotte’s overly simple wedding – Elizabeth’s smile never reached her eyes.

  • • •

  Seven Years Ago

  • • •

  “But Papa, she said she was my friend,” Elizabeth lamented, hands clinging tightly on her father’s coattails.

  Papa patted her head, sighed – and chuckled.

  “Papa!”

  “Lizzy – my Lizzy.” Papa kissed her crown. Elizabeth sniffed, tears dripping out of her as tree trunks would shed ice in spring. “Why did you two quarrel?”

  “Charlotte said – Charlotte –” Elizabeth trailed off, still crying. Her mind struggled to remember. Why did she stomp away from Charlotte?

  “Did she have good reason to protest your choice?” Papa coaxed.

  “I – I do not know.” Elizabeth wiped angrily against her cheeks.

  “Did she give you right cause to be angry?”

  “Yes – yes, of course – she –” She leaned against Papa’s chair. Her sniffing and sighing lessened with each breath she took. She and Charlotte had quarreled – and it had begun over her insistence that Charlotte not befriend the new neighbor who looked at them strangely.

  Now, she could hardly remember how their quarrel had grown.

  “She values your opinion, child – and it is natural for her to defend herself staunchly if you disagree.”

  “She did not have to disagree.” Elizabeth pouted.

  “No, she did not.”

  Papa sat silently for another minute – until she had dried most of her tears – before patting her on the head once more.

  “Your quarrel grew heated because you both cared what the opposite party thought.”

  “She is my friend.”

  “As you are hers.”

  “And what if we cease to be?” Elizabeth turned up towards her father, panic in her chest. What would she do if Charlotte refused to ever see her again?

  Jane was a sweet, loving sister – but Charlotte was older, wiser. Charlotte might outgrow her.

  Papa chuckled again. “Then you seek to befriend her again – and refuse to ever be enemies.”

  Chapter 15:

  The Friendly Promise

  Was it selfish of her to think so?

  Elizabeth sighed, reclining deeper against the back of her chair.

  Since the morning the family had finally agreed upon a wedding date for Jane – the very same morning the news of the departing Darcys had reached Elizabeth’s ears – Longbourn had been little more than a mess.

  “The blue ribbons, Mama. The blue ones look prettier!” Kitty embarked on her most recent tirade over economic fashion.

  “Your father shall be the death of me, child.” Mama lifted a hand to her forehead, before sighing most dramatically. “Can he not spare another dozen pounds for his daughter’s happiness?”

  “I am happy, Mama,” Jane replied, of course, “I do not need new ribbons or new –”

  “Your trousseau must be the envy of Hertfordshire!” Mama declared.

  Elizabeth groaned, barely surviving the suffocating nature of the silly women’s ridiculous demands.

  “Hertfordshire is – ambitious, Mama,” Elizabeth stated, too serene for her surround
ings. “Perhaps we ought to aim for Meryton instead?”

  “The envy of all of Meryton. Yes – it simply must be more impressive than Charlotte Lucas’!” Their mother did not even notice whether her daughters spoke sincerely or merely jested. “The wedding spread cannot be inferior to Lucas Lodge’s. We can afford every luxury, if your father would but allow it. Lizzy!”

  Elizabeth looked up, surprised by the summon.

  “Your father does love you so. Perhaps you can convince him to loosen his purse strings? Just this once – Lizzy, child.”

  Pleading to her children was not a look Mrs. Frances Bennet ought to display too often.

  “Papa has his reasons,” Elizabeth replied.

  “But Papa is old, Lizzy!” Lydia – sins fully forgiven and forgotten by her burgeoning clan, and particularly by her mother – matched Kitty and Mama in enthusiasm. “He is not a young lady in need of new gowns!”

  “Perhaps his – detachment from it all ought to be the very reason we trust his wisdom,” Elizabeth bartered.

  “My father provided plenty for my dowry,” Mama began her most favored topic of late. “It is spiteful and petty of yours to withhold from Jane so.”

  Elizabeth felt her chest constrict, and her chair sink deeper. Anyone, faced with a willful force of nature, would cower.

  “Mama, I am content.” It was Jane, the everlasting angel, who spoke to dispel the heat. “Charles is a dear and knows fully of our situation.”

  “But his sisters, Jane.” A teary edge crept into Mama’s voice.

  “If I care sincerely for Mrs. Hearst and Miss Bingley – I am certain they would not mind whatever things of material worth I bring to my marriage.”

  Elizabeth sniffed, knowing more than Jane that – in all likelihood – the Bingley sisters would mind. Perhaps they already do.

  “But Jane –”

  “Mama, I lack nothing.”

  The joy in Jane’s eyes glistened – so purely, so joyously.

  It was a different look from Charlotte’s – whose happiness manifested in a deep contentment and serenity.

  Jane glowed like a fairy – weightless and sweet – like wispy clouds made out of sugar.

  What would Elizabeth do, when she inevitably lost both her sister and her friend to matrimony?

  She sighed, hair pressed against the hard back of her chair.

  Was it selfish of her to think so?

  • • •

  Dear Elizabeth,

  Would you forgive me for writing with such delay? The road to Pemberley has been uneven, if not outright difficult. My brother was as attentive as he ought to be – though withdrawn in every other way. It seems as if our visit to Hertfordshire, though lasting less than a year’s season, has managed to alter us both fundamentally.

  When we first set foot in Netherfield, I was but a girl – innocent and full of life and hope. It took the dashing of those selfsame hopes to induce my growth – that I may, however painfully, become a woman.

  It truly could not have happened in any other way.

  My cousin had to meet Miss Lucas, and Mr. Bingley had to meet your sister Jane. They make the loveliest couples of my acquaintance now, begrudgingly though I admit it. Mr. Wickham – trusted friend and almost brother – now bears a face I hope I never shall have to see again.

  Do I write in a tone too weary for my age? If I do, please forgive me. There has been no variation in tone for my family since our removal from Hertfordshire. My brother simply ordered me to pack – and then we were gone. We have entrusted Mr. Bingley to inform the neighbors of our leave. We apologize if our incivility offends.

  If there has been any ill will resulting from our untimely departure, perhaps the offended parties may seek comfort from the fact that we ourselves – the indomitable Darcy siblings – have been thoroughly crushed ourselves.

  Even now, in Pemberley, Fitzwilliam haunts the rooms, refusing assistance. The many bruises on his elbows speak of a lack of care I had never before noticed in him. Whenever I seek to share his unspoken grief, he says ‘It does not matter’ and refuses to speak any more. Quite frankly, I fear for his mind.

  Despite the many storms of life, my brother has always been my strength and stay. It falls upon me now to be his.

  I miss your friendship most heartily, Lizzy. If only I had sisters to fill my home as you do.

  Your friend, ever and always,

  Georgiana Darcy

  Elizabeth, tucked away in the corner of her room, let the window shed light upon the words in her hands. It was sweet of Miss Darcy to seek her out in communication. They had spoken previously, of course, of maintaining correspondence.

  Perhaps it was Elizabeth who had insufficient faith in the promises of the wealthy, who had to learn that not all members of the ton proved whimsical and untrustworthy.

  Some, she was fast learning, could be counted upon for kindness, companionship, and reasons for admiration.

  “Lizzy.” Jane appeared at the door. The whirlwind of discussions, choices, and delusions of grandeur had not touched her – and she looked as she always did, radiant and true. “We’ve received another letter for you.”

  Elizabeth looked up in surprise. Her hands instinctively set apart the papers in her hand that she may reach for the one Jane just delivered.

  “Thank you, Jane.”

  “Of course. Are you well, Lizzy? You haven’t set foot outside at all today.”

  Elizabeth looked down slightly, unable to form an answer that was both honest and kind.

  “Lizzy.”

  “I run from the noises,” Elizabeth said her half-truth. “It is more peaceful, here.”

  Jane, ever understanding, nodded before retreating back to the rest of the Longbourn crowd.

  Elizabeth snuggled back against her corner – and opened the second letter from Pemberley.

  Dear Elizabeth,

  Are you well? I have waited for your reply but have gained none.

  My brother calls me silly, for had I not just sent my previous letter two days ago? It was hardly reasonable to consider a good reply having been formed, written, posted, and delivered in so short a time.

  Since my last letter, the air about Pemberley has lifted slightly. Seeking out your company has reminded me, I suppose, of the life beyond these walls. We rest only briefly before returning to Hertfordshire in a matter of weeks – that we may bear witness of the union between your sister and our friend.

  If there is any part of my previous communication that I still wholeheartedly wish – it is that I long for female company, of the sort with which Hertfordshire had spoiled me. It is entirely too lonely here, without mother or sister or friend.

  The neighbors still visit us, of course. Families with young daughters, in particular, have not stopped in their persistence, calling nearly every day. But when they come – so evidently to seek out my brother’s company – he withdraws into himself further and practically runs for his rooms.

  I, ever the graceless host, often mirror his actions not many moments later.

  Oh, what I can learn from you, Lizzy!

  You speak so easily, charm so effortlessly. There have been times, more than once, in which a caller would state something regarding the silliness of women traipsing about the countryside. I would look at my brother and see his small, sad smile.

  We both do miss you so. You would have been able to respond as those people needed to hear.

  I – helpless as ever – merely nodded each time.

  I wish to invite you to Pemberley – to remind me again of the joys of having a wise, female friend. My brother, whose sole company I possess now, is not female – and his many visitors are most distinctly unwise.

  Why is it, you suppose, that our Good Lord gave you four sisters and gave me none? His word begs me to trust His will. It is simply a confusing will, I must admit.

  Even now, as I muse aloud over my intent to invite you to Pemberley, my brother reminds me of my selfishness. Your family is occupied with th
e many preparations that inevitably accompany a daughter marrying. It would be unkind to rob them of your presence simply to satisfy mine.

  But, still, I’m afraid I have a quiet rebel within myself.

  Would you come to Pemberley, Lizzy, as my guest? I shall be the perfect hostess and never run for my rooms. We can journey together when returning for your sister’s wedding. It would not be too long.

  I can hope that your father finds it agreeable to indulge an eccentric young lady’s wishes.

  Your friend, always,

  Georgiana Darcy

  Elizabeth let go of the breath she had been holding, letting a small, steady stream of air escape her lips.

  If her own guardian agreed, and Georgiana’s guardian agreed – then would it truly be so bad to seek refuge from Mama and Kitty and Lydia?

  • • •

  The approach had not been an easy one. Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, ever kind and perceptive, had questioned her at every turn regarding the wonder of her invitation to such a grand, respected estate. The rolling hills and vivid colors of the North had come accompanied with constant, casual stoking of her heart’s confusion. When Uncle and Aunt Gardiner’s stop at Lambton had taken them and their company away from Elizabeth, she had found herself sighing a selfish sigh of great relief.

  Now, it was only she and her maid – braving their way on to Pemberley.

  In her hand, Elizabeth clasped the now-crumpled third letter she’d received from Georgiana mere days ago. The fact that she had her own trunks packed even before said letter arrived reminded Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy’s permission had been a mere formality.

  She had been ready to come regardless of his choice.

  The guilt of having acted so presumptuously condemned her from within. She – who prided herself for her discernment and good sense – had acted little better than an overzealous social climber when the opportunity arose.

  Her heart, she liked to believe, was right before man and God. She longed to escape the silliness of Longbourn’s current frivolity. She longed to attend to a young lady who needed a female companion more than Jane, or Mary, or Kitty, or Lydia did.

  She could not, however, deny that she had jumped at the chance to come visit – nor the fact that she had felt particularly honored to have been singled out so.