Elizabeth Bennet's Deception: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary (13 page)

“Oh, Mama.” Elizabeth slipped her arms about her mother’s shoulders. “You did not fail Papa or the estate. With no male heir, you have done the next best thing: Placing your efforts to securing your daughters’ futures.”

“At least, Mr. Bingley returned to Jane’s side. If Jane can bring Bingley up to snuff this time, a flicker of hope exists that we shall not be destitute after Mr. Bennet passes, and the Collinses claim Longbourn.” A small smile tugged at her mother’s lips. “Although Mr. Wickham did not act honorably toward Lydia, they are settled in the North. I never worried for Lydia finding a husband for she is quite pretty and very inviting.”

Elizabeth thought,
Too inviting
, but she said nothing.

“And I hinted to my Sister Phillips that perhaps Mr. Phillip’s new apprentice, Mr. Robert Grange, might find a sensible wife in Mary.”

“Perhaps soon,” Elizabeth teased, “you will only need to contend with Kitty and me.”

“What else may a mother do? It is her lot in life to put forward her daughters as good mistresses of an eligible gentleman’s household. Naturally, I would wish you and Kitty as well placed as Jane. It would be a great imposition if only Mr. Bingley were to support us. I do not expect the Wickhams in a position to contribute to our comfort.”

Elizabeth privately agreed for the couple was not built to know economy.

“Mr. Grange,” her mother continued, “will be some time as an apprentice before he can claim a wife and home. All we can do is hope Mr. Bennet delays his passing until all our daughters are settled.”

“Is there an urgency?” Elizabeth knew her father not always the most robust of men, but she held no news of possible complaints regarding his health.

Her mother shook off Elizabeth’s worry.

“Nothing immediate,” her mother assured. “But a man can be thrown by his horse or choke upon a bite of lamb stew or fall upon the stairs. Fate is not always kind.”

Mr. Bennet said something similar in regards to Lydia’s folly.

“I promise Kitty and I will plan our appearances in society with more care,” Elizabeth said good-naturedly. “If we are successful, only you and Papa will remain at Longbourn. What shall you do then?” she teased.

As if the idea was not one Mrs. Bennet would welcome, her mother frowned.

“What we do now: Avoid each other. Any tenderness Mr. Bennet once felt for me no longer exists.”

* * *

Elizabeth spent an hour in the orchard before coming to her decision.
What if Mr. Bennet passed this day? Where would they go? How would her mother and sisters survive? If their father passed, Jane could not marry Mr. Bingley for a year because of the required mourning period? Who would take them in? Uncle Gardiner could not stand the extra expense after all he did for Lydia, and Uncle Phillips could not support two households on his income.

“But if I chose an alliance with Mr. Darcy, all would be well,” Elizabeth reasoned. “I could tolerate the correspondence between us long enough to see Jane settled with Mr. Bingley, and then I could end it if we cannot come to some understanding.”

With resolve, she marched into her father’s study.

“Papa, I decided to correspond with Mr. Darcy. I pray you shall permit this aberration from propriety.”

“I see,” Mr. Bennet said, but her father did not appear surprised by Elizabeth’s declaration. He leaned into his chair and studied Elizabeth’s features. “What brought on this change of mind? Only two days prior you swore you wished nothing to do with the man.”

“I considered what you said and what Mr. Darcy freely states in his letter: My impetuous spirit led many to believe I claim an engagement with Mr. Darcy. Heaven knows this family cannot bear more shame. Mr. Darcy proposes a betrothal for appearance sake, and if we choose to remain together, the gentleman will honor the engagement.” Elizabeth added quickly.  “What I share will sound of a bit of lunacy: Despite our multiple disagreements, Mr. Darcy remains my most devoted friend, and such is more than many may claim in a relationship.”

“Yes,” her father said sagely. “A marriage based on friendship is preferable to one based upon passion.”

* * *

It took a week for her response to arrive, but Darcy’s instincts proved correct: Elizabeth agreed to accept the “fake” engagement he suggested. Finally, Darcy’s breathing eased.

“I simply must employ the words, which will bring the lady into my embrace forever.”

Darcy reread Elizabeth’s response. It was even more carefully worded than his initial letter. He smiled when he imagined her scratching out words and rewriting passages to eliminate any display of affection.

“Nice volley,” Darcy mused aloud. “The game continues.”

He picked up his pen to write:

My dearest Elizabeth
,

My dearest Elizabeth,

Elizabeth rushed to her quarters to read Mr. Darcy’s response. She spent hours purging any sign of the affection she felt for the man in her letter to him, but she prayed for a glimmer of such in the gentleman’s response.

“My dearest Elizabeth,” she read aloud. “Thank you for your thoughtful response. I imagine you were as cautious as I in choosing the correct words, ones which offered no commitment and no evidence of our previous interactions.”

In spite of her best efforts to ignore Mr. Darcy’s audacious confidence, Elizabeth smiled.

“It is a true shame the man and I are of a like mind. Such knowledge would make our joining an interesting endeavor.”

Therefore, I propose another compromise. Could we simply speak honestly? Let us talk of politics, estates, books, the latest on dits, family…whatever is upon our minds. Tell me of your day: The frustrations and the humor and the tenderness. Likewise, I will speak of mine. Speak to me of Bingley and Miss Bennet, what has occurred in Meryton, and of the Lucases. I wish to know more of Elizabeth Bennet, and it appears imperative that you should know something of Fitzwilliam Darcy beyond the image of the Master of Pemberley.

“A bold move, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth murmured. “Perhaps I shall discover more to despise than to admire.”

Assuming you will agree, I would like to revisit our earliest encounters. In truth, your rebuke of my attentions at Hunsford Cottage was a slap to my pride, but upon reflection, I discovered you said nothing of me that I did not deserve, and although your accusations were ill founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behavior to you at the time merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.

I know you will offer your forgiveness, but I am not so easily reconciled. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, and my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I will never forget –‘Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner,’ those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.

“Could Mr. Darcy value my opinion so?” Elizabeth sat in awe of his early devotion to her. She could barely recall what she said in anger, but Mr. Darcy knew pain from her remarks, so much so that Elizabeth regretted her impulsive tongue.

“Proclaiming Mr. Darcy less than a gentleman stung the man’s conceit. How did I not see that my retort would act upon Mr. Darcy’s scruples so profoundly?”

At the time you thought me then devoid of every proper feeling. I am certain you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.

“Dare I tell Mr. Darcy that I have long been most heartily ashamed of my actions?” Elizabeth whispered.

I pray the letter I so unceremoniously pressed into your hands the morning after your rejection had you thinking better of me. Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents? I would know your opinion, Miss Elizabeth, if you would indulge me. I realize what I wrote must have given you pain, but I pray not so much pain that exculpation cannot be presented. I hope you destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions, which might justly make you hate me.

“Hate you?” Elizabeth murmured as tears flooded her eyes. “I learned to care most deeply for you, and as to the burning of that letter, it shall never happen.”

When I wrote that letter in Rosings’ chambers, I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. No doubt, you will speak to me of how you, too, acted in reproach, but I cannot place the blame upon your shoulders. You acted well in the matter.

“As noted previously, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth observed, “you hold yourself to impossibly strict standards. Doing so makes the fall more overwhelming.”

But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. To be more affable toward others. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately, as an only son, (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who though good themselves, (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable) allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. What do I not owe you? You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.

“Oh, my!” Elizabeth’s heart quickened. “Could it be so?” She reread the last few lines. “Whether I care to hear it or not, Mr. Darcy always speaks the truth. Is there a chance we might know happiness?”

As I look to my future–to our future–I wish not to know the regret of a million opportunities, which I permitted to pass me by, especially the opportunity to place you safely in my embrace.

Yours, Darcy…

And so it began. Elizabeth’s next letter to Mr. Darcy contained her assurances that she long since accepted his innocence in his dealings with Mr. Wickham before adding that he spoke too harshly of his foibles, but did not speak of the expressions of affection obvious in the gentleman’s letter. Instead, Elizabeth followed his suggestion. She wrote of her day. She did venture to tell him of her most recent insights regarding her mother and her sister Mary. If Elizabeth were to agree to marry Mr. Darcy, she wished him to know of the dire straits, which could plague her mother and sisters if Mr. Bennet passed suddenly. She would not deceive Mr. Darcy in such matters.

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Darcy offered his opinions of what she disclosed, but no censure, and then he shared some of the lessons he learned from his parents.

Over the weeks that followed they debated the value of “The Borough” by George Crabbe. While Elizabeth advocated for another form rather than the heroic couplet used by Crabbe, Mr. Darcy extolled the value of the couplet in bringing the stories to the reader. They both thought Crabbe’s depiction of borough life held value.

Mr. Darcy’s description of Lord Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” had Elizabeth wishing she read it so they might discuss Byron’s ideas upon life.

Surprisingly, Mr. Darcy was equally enthusiastic over Sir Richard Colt Hoare’s study of
The Ancient History of South Wiltshire
. When Darcy told her of Samuel Darcy, a famous archaeologist, being a cousin, Elizabeth, who had seen many of the gentleman’s artifacts at the museum on a previous trip to London, knew admiration.

One rotation of letters held their thoughts of the May assassination of Prime Minister Spencer Perceval and the execution of John Bellingham, Perceval’s killer. Both expressed their concern for England if the Prime Minister could be brought down.

But what Elizabeth cherished most were those moments when Mr. Darcy spoke of family and the possibility of their joining.

“I have thought much of the subject of late,” he wrote. “And I believe loving another gives a person courage to face the world.”

To which Elizabeth added, “I would think love makes a person strong when he encounters disdain.”

As the weeks passed, Elizabeth found she looked forward to the arrival of Mr. Darcy’s letters and knew disappointment when one did not arrive as timely as she expected.  Often their letters overlapped.

“Another letter?” her father said with a lift of his eyebrow.

Elizabeth handed him her latest response to Mr. Darcy’s correspondence.

“Yes. Please send it out in the next post.”

The corners of her father’s lips turned upward.

“Quite an expensive courtship your gentleman set before us.”

Still feeling the glow of Mr. Darcy’s flirtatious words, Elizabeth smiled largely.

“I forgot to tell you: Mr. Darcy transferred funds to your man of business to cover the cost of the additional posts.”

“He did, did he?” The amusement in Mr. Bennet’s tone spoke of his affection for her. “Incidentally, how long am I to anticipate this
exchange
to last before one of you decides to end it?”

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth frowned. She did not wish the letters to end, but neither did she wish to encounter Mr. Darcy again. In their letters, they were friends and real affection blossomed, but when they were face-to-face, they said ill things to each other.

“I fear I cannot say. It is not as if Mr. Darcy can call at Longbourn. Only you and I know the gentleman and I correspond.”

“Have you not spoken to Jane today?” her father asked.

The change of subject confused Elizabeth.

“Not since we broke our fast. Is something amiss?”

“Nothing we did not expect. Mr. Bingley called upon me this morning. I must say I am pleased Jane brought her young man’s toes to the line. The news sent Mrs. Bennet from the house to spread her joy about the neighborhood. I do not expect your mother’s return until supper.”

“I am delighted for the union!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I must find Jane and wish her happy.”

“You should know, Lizzy,” her father said as she reached the door, “that Mr. Bingley means to ask Mr. Darcy to stand up with him. Your ‘friend’ will be returning to Hertfordshire soon.”

Elizabeth felt the panic claim her breathing, but she kept a smile upon her lips.

“I am anxious to hear Jane’s plans.” She would not permit her father to shake her composure. Elizabeth turned back to deliver a challenge. “Have you thought, Papa, of what you will do when all of your daughters marry and settle elsewhere? Mrs. Bennet will no longer have a reason to go to Meryton. You will be Mama’s entire world.”

With that, Elizabeth made her exit, but she heard her father call after her.

“Elizabeth Bennet. I did not find your observation amusing!” A burst of laughter followed Elizabeth down the hall.

* * *

Darcy did not expect two letters arriving at the same time, nor did he anticipate the familiarity the shorter one held. In the first, Elizabeth shared more of the experiences, which marked the woman she had become. In this latest one, she told him of falling from a tree limb when she was nine and how she no longer cared for heights. She also shared information on a scar, which marked her knee–a result of the fall. Afterwards, Darcy fantasized on the delight of kissing the scar and enjoying Elizabeth’s response. The woman tangled him into knots and brought out the desire Darcy never thought to know.

The second letter began with a familiarity not found previously.

Darcy

Reading the salutation, it was all Darcy could do not to shout with triumph. Nearly a month passed since they began this written wooing, and this was the first time Elizabeth addressed him with anything other than “Mister Darcy.”

“It is a step,” he whispered to his empty study before continuing to read…

Darcy,

I suppose you learned of the engagement of my dearest sister Jane and Mr. Bingley. I am certain you share my good wishes for the happy couple; yet, you must know the prospect of your return to Hertfordshire frightens me.

“A bit difficult to realize the woman for which you yearn does not look forward to the prospect of beholding you again,” Darcy murmured in cynicism. “Yet, this is not the time to abandon the chase.”

What if we find we do not suit? I do wish our discussions to end. What if when we meet again, we say things, which are meant to destroy each other? I could not bear it.

E.

Darcy knew his response must be carefully worded. “My words must win the lady’s heart and her cooperation.”

* * *

Elizabeth lingered in the passage near her father’s study for two days before Mr. Darcy’s letter arrived. While she waited, she cursed her decision to write of her qualms to the gentleman.

“What if Mr. Darcy terms me gormless? What if my letter proves I am not the woman the gentleman thinks me to be?”

At length, his letter arrived. Snatching it from her father’s hand, Elizabeth raced to her quarters to read her fate. Settling on her bed, she ripped at the wax seal bearing the imprint of his signet ring.