Miss Darcy's Companion: A Pride and Prejudice Variation (16 page)

PART TWO

Elizabeth

CHAPTER 13

The ivy grows slowly day by day, and all through the night. Tendrils sprout, unfurl and reach to take hold. No noticeable difference from one day to the next, yet a time comes when one can see it has covered the entire wall, clinging so firmly that it leaves visible damage if torn off.

When had she become so deeply attached to Mr Darcy? How had she been so senseless to allow him to take such a firm hold over her heart? Insidiously, treacherously, her feelings had grown without notice, until one day she had found herself thoroughly caught in this wretched mire of yearning and despair.

For she had no hope. No hope whatsoever. Even as Miss Elizabeth of Longbourn she could have scarce hoped to capture the interest of one who could make an alliance with the most illustrious houses in the land. What hope could she possibly nurture
now
, when she was nothing to him but yet another name in the wages ledger – one of the many souls in his employ?

She kept reminding herself of this heart-wrenching truth time and again, yet there was nothing to be done about it. She could not stop thinking of him, with the deepest agony of longing. Could not stop stealing surreptitious glances at his handsome face, as though it were not indelibly etched into her mind’s eye already. As though it were not burned into her heart. She could not look at his hands, even – beautiful hands, with long, firm fingers – without a forbidden thrill at the thought of how perfect life would be if they held her. Nor hear his deep voice without yearning to hear it again. To hear her own name on his lips. Not ‘Miss Bennet’, but ‘Elizabeth’. Whispering that he loved her. And her heart broke to know that day would never come.

And now he was gone. Had left Pemberley without warning the day after her foolish, foolish lapse of judgement. Whatever had possessed her to go into the music room in the dead of night and sing that song? He had claimed he had not heard her – but what if he had merely said as much to spare her the well-deserved mortification? What if he had actually heard the wretched words?

It was an Italian aria she had sung – not sung in truth, but falteringly whispered – but with his extensive knowledge of most things and his all-encompassing education, it was to be expected he had acquired a thorough understanding of that language. So he would have known what the words said: that even when lips were silenced and feelings could not be openly expressed, they would still burn in sparkling eyes and could be discerned, if one were to look closely.

He
had
looked closely that night in the music room. Had he seen the full truth in her eyes? Was that the reason for his abrupt departure?

Elizabeth frowned and stood, vexed with herself beyond endurance. Goodness, how highly she still thought of herself! What gentleman – however kind and noble – leaves his ancestral home to spare the feelings of his sister’s paid companion?

He was the best man she had ever known. Every day spent in his house had taught her that. The best brother, the best landlord, the best master. Firm, as she had seen for herself on more than one occasion, yet eminently fair and uncommonly considerate. Never a cross word from him to anyone, even when richly deserved. Some people called him proud, Mrs Reynolds once said, but Elizabeth had to agree with the kindly housekeeper: she had never seen any sign of it, and what might have been misconstrued as pride was nothing but his natural reserve.

Yet a gentleman of his moral standing – no matter how reserved and honourable and thoughtful – would not abandon his own home just because he might have found himself an object of fascination to a young woman in his household, who should have known better. No, he would sensitively make arrangements for her leaving his employ.

So hopefully her secret was still safe and his departure not laid at her door. But this made his absence not a shade more bearable as she prayed for his swift return. Her days at Pemberley were numbered, she knew it all too well, and it was the greatest anguish to be deprived of the comfort of his presence while she was still allowed to have it. Nay, not comfort. There was no comfort for her in his company. Just the forbidden thrill of aching joy.

* * * *

He did not return. Instead, a letter came for Georgiana, to tell her he had arrived in Berkeley Square in safety – and give no indication of his length of stay. So there was nothing to be done but struggle through the bleak emptiness of each barren day.

Despondently and with a heavy heart, the old pursuits from former days of summer were slowly resumed as Elizabeth valiantly sought to accustom herself with his continued absence. It was good practice for the future, to learn to live with this gaping void. With the dull oppressive weight that would be her constant companion when she left Pemberley to live with Jane.

But at least she would be in entirely new surroundings then. A safe new place, devoid of associations. She would not have to look each day upon an empty seat at the table, nor battle tears as she wandered through a house imbued with him, regardless of whether he was there in flesh or not.

His house. His possessions. His heartbreakingly faithful likeness in the gallery. His study, where she had ventured in a moment of insanity – for how could she have justified the impertinent intrusion, had she been discovered there? What business had she to lay a stroking hand over the top of the large chair, where his head had rested? Or brush her fingertips over the pens his hand had touched? What business had she to stand there, eyes closed and breathing deeply to savour the admixture saturating the eminently masculine room – leather, old books and his own distinctive scent, so achingly familiar although she could not have possibly deciphered the subtle alchemy of its ingredients. So personal a room and so full of him that it brought nothing but sharper longing tainted with mortification. She could not have been more out of place had she wandered above stairs, into his private chambers.

She hurried out, never to return. It was hard enough to bear his absence in the rest of the house. The breakfast room. The dining room. The music room. The orangery. The library. Haunting recollections wherever she turned. Aching recollections of the time when she had enjoyed his company to the full, blissfully unaware of her burgeoning feelings. Had delighted in his admirable qualities and knowledge of the world. Had talked and laughed with him, had discussed books, had played at chess. Only to withdraw from him when she had discovered, to her deepest shock and anguish, that admiration and respect had blossomed into love, for fear of betraying herself with too long a glance or some incautious word or gesture.

Oh, how she regretted wasting all those precious hours! How she repented of each and every time she had refused to indulge him with a game of chess, or a song, or conversation. She should have eagerly welcomed every chance to be near him; buried her feelings deeper and treasured every moment. Too late. Too late for empty wishes. There was nothing left but the agony of loss.

* * * *

He remained absent. But late February brought at least one balm to Elizabeth’s aching heart. Jane and Mr Bingley had concluded their stay with relations in the north and had stopped at Pemberley on their return journey.

While Elizabeth had so far succeeded in concealing her distress from Georgiana, the same could not be said of Jane, who knew her a great deal better, and finding her in such low spirits perturbed her eldest sister greatly. The evening of their arrival brought no opportunity for privacy and careful inquiries, but on the very next day she asked Elizabeth to accompany her on a walk through the grounds. As soon as they were alone, Jane put her deep concern into words:

“Dearest Lizzy, may I ask why you are so dreadfully despondent? I have not seen you in such a bad way since we lost Papa.” No answer came, but she insisted: “Will you not tell me what makes you so low? Is it still him? Are you still grieving? I hoped you would feel his loss less keenly by now. I long to see you restored to your former self and hear you laugh and tease me as you used to do.”

“Oh, Jane! Whatever is there to be cheerful about?” Elizabeth bitterly burst out, only to apologise a moment later. “Forgive me, dearest. Your happiness gives me every reason to rejoice. Mr Bingley is such a wonderful gentleman, so kind and amiable, and so well suited to you. I am delighted for you both.”

Jane clasped her in a warm embrace and eagerly whispered:

“He is everything you say and more. If only I could see you as happy.”

Elizabeth drew back from her sister’s tender arms, her countenance once more clouded.

“Thank you. But it will never happen.”

“Why would you say that? No one can tell what the future holds. Of everyone I know, you used to have the sunniest disposition. It pains me to see you so dreadfully altered.”

“Forgive me,” Elizabeth said again. “I do not wish to give you pain. Let us change the subject.”

“Let us not,” Jane replied, quietly but warmly. “There is a great sadness in you, and I cannot see you bear it alone. Tell me, Lizzy! Pray tell me what distresses you.”

The entreaty struck the deepest chord. Oh, for the relief of speaking the truth for once, and unburdening herself to someone she could fully trust – her dearest sister.

There was no one around. No risk of being overheard. With a deep sigh, she ventured forth.

“Would you listen and not pity me? I could not bear your pity.”

“You frighten me. What is this about?”

Elizabeth clasped her sister’s hand and the truth burst out in an anguished whisper:

“I love him, Jane! With all my heart and soul I love him. The longer I spent with him, the deeper I fell every day, and there is nothing for me but misery. He is so far above me, I might as well worship the sun in the sky,” she finished dejectedly, and Jane’s eyes widened.

“You speak of Mr Darcy.”

“Who else?” Elizabeth retorted bitterly, only to be gathered in a tight embrace.

They stood there holding fast as, in the comfort and safety of her eldest sister’s arms, Elizabeth’s long-held sorrows found cathartic release. She wept as Jane had never seen her weep before, her shoulders shaking with heartrending gasps, and all she could do was hold her and rock her gently from side to side, until the worst of the agony was spent.

They remained still for quite some time, still holding fast, still slowly rocking, and finally Elizabeth drew back and reached in her pocket for a handkerchief. She wiped her tears with great energy, and then her red but determined countenance emerged from the crumpled folds.

“There. Enough now. I must find a way to stop looking like a steamed beet, so that we can return to the house. Your husband and Georgiana must be wondering what has become of us.”

But Jane was not ready to start pretending that nothing was amiss. She reached up to clasp her hands on her sister’s arms.

“You must come to us, Lizzy. The sooner, the better.”

To her slight surprise, this time she met with no opposition. Elizabeth nodded.

“Yes. I must. I shall. As soon as… Mr Darcy returns and I can relinquish my duties regarding Georgiana, I will come. If you would have me.”

“You dear foolish thing! Why would you doubt it?” She embraced Elizabeth again and kissed her still damp cheek. “Come to us, Lizzy,” she repeated, then tentatively added, “It is too soon to speak of this, but who knows? From what I understand, Charles and Mr Darcy are very close. He will often come to visit. And see you as his friend’s sister, rather than Miss Darcy’s companion– ”

But Elizabeth shook her head.

“No, Jane!” she said firmly. “No false hopes. I will keep you company and help raise your children. That is all the happiness I will set my sights on. In due course, doubtlessly Mamma will have her wish,” she added with a forced laugh, “and prevail upon your dear husband to throw me, Kitty, Lydia and Mary into the path of other rich men, but I hold great hopes that by then I will have made myself sufficiently useful in your home to be spared that honour. If not, I could always remain near you simply by setting my cap at Mr Collins. He might find merit in a connection to the family at Netherfield and offer for me again.”

Jane squeezed her sister’s arm. It was highly reassuring to find Elizabeth putting on a brave face and seeking to make sport, so she forbore to tell her that some things ought not be said even in jest. And one of them was her marrying Mr Collins.

* * * *

Jane’s visit, brief as it was, gave Elizabeth new strength. It was a great comfort to have shared her painful secret and formed at least
some
plans for the future. Yet Jane had to leave, sooner than both sisters would have wished. Thus, she was no longer at Pemberley on the day when Elizabeth had a new troubling confidence to share: that Mr Bradden had most unexpectedly come to offer for her.

In very different circumstances she might have welcomed his addresses – or, if not welcomed, then received them with calm pleasure. He was a good man, gentle and kind, and although he had inspired her with no sentiment deeper than respect, she might have accepted his proposal and sought to make him happy. Her father’s loss and its far-reaching consequences had put a fair distance between her and the naïve youthful view that nothing but the deepest love would ever induce her into matrimony.