They were the unlikeliest of friends, not in manner or temperament, but in station. Of course, all England knew that Elizabeth Darcy was not one to stand on ceremony, but how it was that she was so often visiting the wife of a common post-captain in a pokey cottage, not only set a few tongues wagging in higher circles but sometimes made Lizzie herself wonder. Not that she was a stranger to shrewish-voiced mothers scrimping and saving and bemoaning the unwed status of various daughters, even if Elizabeth's present position was much removed from that, but the awkwardness of Sophie Aubrey's husband interacting with her own was nearly insurmountable.
The few times it had been unavoidable, it had been most painful to watch the two men. The more confused Jack became, the more he blundered and blustered, like a wolfhound puppy left in the drawing room by accident, knocking over a priceless vase and then wagging his tail in apology, which of course would break more trinkets. And the more confused Darcy became, the more he retreated into stiff, painfully polite aristocratic silence, which vexed him further as he had been trying so hard for Lizzie's sake to not lapse into that Darcy of the past. It was an uphill battle for all he was tender with her; groups of people often proved too much for his resolve, especially when confronted with Jack's bluff heartiness and bad puns.
It would have amused Lizzie (and in fact did to some degree), but Jack's thoughtless good nature and Darcy's well-bred asocial disposition were a dangerous mix, far more dangerous than the mere difference in their station. Whereas, when Aubrey was out to sea and Darcy had business to attend to on or off the estate, Lizzie took great joy in visiting her friend without worrying that her husband would expire in a flaming burst of good manners and mental anguish, while dear bumbling Aubrey scratched his head in bemusement.
"Ah, Sophie!" she cried, as she stepped down from the carriage. "What a delight it is to see you!" Sophie beamed in her quiet, demure way as she led her friend into the somewhat dank parlour. "Ah, the cabbages, I see! So regimental, yet so…"
"I know," giggled Sophie. "I oughtn't laugh but the cabbages…"
They sat and talked comfortably, as women who have similar mothers and backgrounds can, and as women who know they have a few days in front of them do. But something nagged at Lizzie, a certain paleness in the formerly blooming cheeks of her friend, a haggardness that shouldn't be present. She did not press and tried to restrain her keen
glances, but it was as hard for headstrong Elizabeth to let her friends suffer as it had been for her to watch Jane suffer. Time had taught the former Lizzie Bennet to hold her tongue more than formerly, but nothing would stop her spirited devotion to those she loved.
It wasn't until much cooing over the twins, a cheerfully sparse meal and much repressed laughter on account of Sophie's mother's dinner "conversation," that Lizzie retired to her bedchamber. She was unsurprised when Sophie knocked hesitantly upon the door, but more surprised when Sophie asked if she could come in, and then sat tremulously on the side of the bed.
"Dear Lizzie, I am so glad you have come. It gets so lonely here at times. I love Jack with all my heart, but he's so often away. The sea is the other part of his heart, and as much as she is a jealous mistress, I shouldn't resent her." Sophie's eyes were downcast, her voice quiet. "And then for you, a woman of such great estate, to visit me here…"
"Nonsense!" cried Lizzie. "You are one of the sweetest women in England, a fact of which both Jack Aubrey and I are well-aware. I wouldn't come if I didn't want to, and it's a bit selfish on my part, as Jane is so busy with all her children, that happy, hearty lot. It does me good to spend time with a friend a amiable and kind as you, not filled with the petty drawing-room scandals and how many braces of pheasants were shot or whatever people talk about!"
Lizzie paused and took a closer look at her friend. Quickly she marked the page in her book, sat up and gently tipped Sophie's head towards her. As the normally calm yet bright eyes turned towards her, Lizzie saw tears threatening to spill out. "You're crying. Oh, don't cry," she said, as Sophie hugged her tightly. "Good-hearted people like you and Jane should never have need to cry."
As Sophie's sobs lessened, the two women slowly parted, lying side-by-side in companionable silence, heads propped on bent arms, sharing in the comfort of being with a companion who truly comprehends. Nothing had been said, but much was understood. It was so much like the many nights Elizabeth had spent with her sister, in those happy but tumultuous days before all the marriages, children and responsibilities. Lizzie smiled in recollection.
When Sophie suddenly leaned forward and pressed her warm, soft lips against Lizzie's own, the first ludicrous thought through her head was, "Well, I never did this with Jane, certainly." This made her giggle into the kiss, which caused Sophie to draw back in embarrassment.
"I'm so sorry!" Sophie cried. "I don't know what…"
But after all, thought Lizzie, Sophie isn't Jane, either.
"I do," she said, the old Lizzie Bennet sparkle in her eyes.