A Small Altercation
Mr and Mrs Wickham had only arrived at Longbourne a few hours previously, but Elizabeth was already struggling to restrain herself. She was angry at Wickham, both for what he had done to Miss Darcy and how he had deceived her. She was angry at Lydia for almost ruining the family. She was angry at her father for letting it happen. She was angry at her mother for putting such ideas in her littler sister's head. She was angry at herself for not sharing at least some of what Mr Darcy had told her in his letter.
But mostly, she was simply sad. While the family may have been saved from ruin in the eyes' of society, they were in the eyes' of Mr Darcy. Elizabeth could not help but remember all those months ago at Rosings, where he had so cruelly insulted her family and how she had defended them. "He was right," she thought. "He was right and I was too wrapped up in my own pride to see it."
Her time at Pemberley was now no more than a bittersweet memory. Yes, she had fond memories, but they would always serve as a reminder of what she had given up and the moments when she had foolishly thought it was still within her grasp.
A life with a man who loved her. A good man, who shared her love of books and respected her opinion. A man who is wealthy enough that she would not have had to worry as much as her mother did. She could have enjoyed her life in Pemberley's halls. Quiet afternoons in that parlour she had fallen in love with, with the views which stretched out as far as the eye could see. Evenings in the music room listening to Georgiana play, or in the library, where Mr Darcy's most beautiful chess set lived. Sitting on the banks of the lake while her husband fished and made idle conversation with her.
Irregular trips to town, where they would explore museums and art galleries. Spent evenings at the theatre, either watching Shakespeare, or commenting on the ridiculousness of the other patrons. They could have attended the occasional ball, where she would have teased her shy husband mercilessly as the Ton gaped upon seeing the stern Mr Darcy dancing.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her sister, the new Mrs Wickham, twirling into the room, ready to boast about her "good fortune" once again. Seeing that her elder sister was alone, a cruel grin spread across Lydia's face.
"Are you jealous Lizzie? Are you jealous that Wickham chose me and not you?"
Lizzie did not reply. In other circumstances she may have found Lydia's questions quite humorous.
Despite her sister's silence Lydia continued with her questions, sounding more and more like her mother as the seconds passed. It was not until she stopped to take a much-needed breath that Lizzie spoke.
"Why on earth would I be jealous of you?"
"Well, because I married Wickham and you're in love with him," Lydia said, almost unsure of herself.
"I was never in love with him. I'll admit I was interested, but never in love. Not with him anyway."
Lydia, not being quite as stupid as Lizzie thought she was, picked up on her last sentence. "If you were not in love with Wickham, then who were you in love with."
"It hardly matters now. It's not like he will have me after what you have done."
"But I am not ruined. I am married."
"You may not be ruined. We may not be ruined, but that does not mean everything is as it was. You may have got what you wanted, but what about the rest of us. Do you think Mr Bingley will come back when he hears of what you did? And I know Jane says that she is fine, but we both know that she is still heartbroken."
Lydia tried to interject, but Lizzie had begun now, and nothing would be able to stop her. "When you were off eloping or whatever it was you thought you were doing, did you ever think about your sisters. About Mary and Kitty and Jane. When you were with Aunt and Uncle in London, did you ever think what you put them through. Having to deal with you when you deserved no help. And even now, when I lay your crimes at your door for you to confront, you refuse to see the error in your actions. The pain that you have caused."
Lizzie then fell silent. Lydia's face was turning red with anger, and not wanting to deal with the incoming tantrum, Lizzie fled the house and into the trees. When she felt she was a far enough distance from the house she stopped. She leant against a tree and sobbed.
She cried for Jane and the ever-decreasing chance of Mr Bingley returning. She cried for Lydia and the life she now had, shacked to that man. And she cried for herself.
She whispered his name over and over again, begging him to forgive her and praying he would return. She wished he was here now, to tell her that he loved her and that everything would be well.
But he wasn't and he never would be.