"If you knew, Elizabeth, then you would hardly be able to stand there and speak the words you do! The heartbreak that is my life - from the loss of my legs to the loss of my child - is nothing your foolishness can comprehend!"
Elizabeth sniffed as the words her sister had hurled at her this morning reverberated in her mind. The Netherfield library was quiet at night, the fire warm and low. It was a slice of solitude that she treasured very much.
Despite the hastiness with which Elizabeth and her husband had hurried from Pemberley to answer her family's summons, despite their every effort to console her sobbing sister - Jane had remained resolute in her determination to be miserable - flinging insults and accusations, and even things, at Elizabeth the entire day long. A quick visit to Longbourn had provided some slight respite, but Mama's constant allusions to Jane's suffering were hardly better than having to witness said suffering in person.
It had taken hours and days of effort to arrive in such a timely matter, and Jane's ungratefulness - nay, the ungratefulness of her entire family - cut Elizabeth deeply, in a way she had not known was possible in the days before she had experienced the joys of Pemberley's domesticity.
Perhaps a glimpse of happiness was all she had needed to understand what misery was.
Elizabeth toyed with the book on her lap, her thoughts far too distracted to immerse themselves in a novel, however riveting its plot may be. Given how well Pemberley's library had spoiled her, she doubted anyway that any volume from this measly collection could entrance her now. Even the library at Longbourn was a more decent option, but Mama had insisted that the Darcys stay at Netherfield to comfort Jane instead.
A soft wind whispered against the window. The fire danced to its own tune under the mantle.
"Jane, you have a home, and a husband who loves you dearly - surely, there are reasons to give thanks," Elizabeth had tried to persuade her sister this morning.
All her efforts proved to be in vain. And Jane had sulked the entire day long. Dinner, shared amongst Mr. Bingley, Fitzwilliam, and Elizabeth herself, had been a most tedious affair. And even after dinner, when Elizabeth had asked to visit the library on her own, she could only do so after being accosted by a few servants, each eager to inform Elizabeth that Jane's moods had remained this way every day since the loss of her child.
It was not as if Elizabeth did not mourn for Jane's sake. She could never wish such sorrow upon another human being, much less upon a sister with whom she had shared so much in her life.
But martyr was a title best suited for others to bestow. One hardly earned any favor by playing one out of one's own volition.
A door opened behind Elizabeth's chair. She heard the approach of slippered feet.
"Elizabeth," a male voice greeted.
She softened into a smile. Perhaps, despite the storm, her husband can provide some calm and peace.
"Are you well?" the voice inquired.
"As well as I can be." Elizabeth sighed. She leaned her head against the back of her chair, closing her eyes. The sounds of approaching footsteps calmed her. "Jane can be blinded, at times."
"I know." There was a mirthless chuckle. "I've wondered, at times, how someone so beautiful can be so very miserable."
Elizabeth grimaced. "It takes effort, I suppose, to remain so defiantly unhappy in the midst of innumerable blessings. I cannot begrudge her her sorrow over her misfortunes, but I had hoped to provide her some solace."
"You are most understanding, Elizabeth." There was a choked, almost higher quality to her husband's voice tonight. Perhaps it was due to the slight cold he had caught on the way to Hertfordshire. She had thought it gone - but colds do linger, at times.
"You give me far too much credit, my dear." She scoffed and shook her head. "I am a selfish creature, at heart."
"A selfish creature would not sacrifice herself for her sister's happiness." The man who came with the voice arrived beside her. The height of the voice indicated a nearer source than was normal for her husband. "You are far superior to her in every way."
Elizabeth opened her eyes.
"Mr. Bingley!" She ejected herself from her chair immediately, away from the inappropriate distance her sister's husband had created between them. "How could you - why are you - "
"How I have suffered without you, Elizabeth!" He dashed forward without pause, even as she backed away. "Your sister and her constant demands - her ceaseless complaining - I cannot bear another minute knowing you stay so very far away while I remain tethered to her side."
"Mr. Bingley!"
"Do not be so strange, Elizabeth." He reached for her shoulders. The wall behind her stopped her from avoiding him fully. "Please - call me Charles."
Tears, spurred by a long and tiring day, welled in her eyes. She shook her head. "Mr. Bingley, I cannot - "
"Elizabeth." He held her by the sides of her face. His presence pushed her the edge of a dangerous precipice. "Please, Elizabeth, tell me - that you missed me, that you thought of me - as much as I did of you."
Tears escaped her, trailing down her cheeks and catching on his thumbs.
"Mr. Bingley - "
"Elizabeth."
He moved to kiss her, but she shoved him forcefully away.
"Elizabeth!" He called after her, once, perhaps twice, before she fled her way upstairs.
"We all mourn so heartily with you, Mr. Bingley," Mama lamented loudly in the Longbourn parlor. "May God have mercy and send another child soon! How can my children all be cursed with such misery!"
Elizabeth remained at her spot across the room, her demeanor subdued, as she clung onto her husband's arm. Such public displays of affection were hardly the norm for them, or for their immediate circles. Given the way Mr. Bingley had accosted her the night before, however, Elizabeth found herself in need of every physical anchor she could find for her volatile emotions.
It was not as if she still cared for Mr. Bingley - not in the way he seemed to presume she did.
But to see him so wretched, so worldweary at his young age as his mother by marriage prattled on, was hardly commendable to Elizabeth's senses either.
It was altogether not an ideal chapter in the Bennets' lives, and every somber face in the room reflected that very fact.
Elizabeth had mused, this morning, right before their departure for their daily morning call, if it would be more proper for her to stay at Netherfield to attempt another reconciliation with Jane. Perhaps, with the men away, her sister may prove more willing to lend a listening ear.
One dangerous look from Mr. Bingley had been enough for Elizabeth to decide that she had to stay by Fitzwilliam's side. It was simply not the time to leave any room for misinterpretation regarding the state of her loyalties.
"It is perhaps not all so bad," Papa remarked when Mama's itinerant protests lulled somewhat. He peered over the paper in his hands. "See how well our Elizabeth fares. There is hope for our daughters yet."
Elizabeth started at the way all eyes in the room turned towards her. Beneath her touch, her husband's arm stiffened.
He never did like much attention.
"I am - doing well," she mustered, blinking profusely the entire time. "Although I do hope - Jane recovers."
Her allusion to the eldest among the sisters seemed to restore some equilibrium to the family, and Mama resumed her rants with her usual vigor soon enough.
Imperceptibly to others, Fitzwilliam sighed. Elizabeth hoped it was a sigh of relief.
The morning tarried, as it was wont to do whenever these calls occurred, and the warmth of the rising sun soon heightened the temperature within the house to an uncomfortable degree. Lydia was the first to declare the need for a garden walk, and Elizabeth quickly moved to accede.
"Before you join them, Mr. Darcy - perhaps I may consult you regarding one of the appeals from my tenants?" Papa requested, as the group all took to their feet.
Fitzwilliam exchanged a look with Elizabeth. It was no secret which son-in-law was Papa's favorite, and one could hardly blame Papa for wishing for some male company at times.
"I shall join you soon," Fitzwilliam said softly. He pressed Elizabeth's hand - and departed with her father.
In an instant, Elizabeth felt another pair of male eyes taking her in - peeling away the layers of protection she had accumulated for herself. Perhaps no other individual in the parlor knew then, but Elizabeth felt herself withering already within the stifling walls' confines.
"The gardens wait," Elizabeth declared quickly, leading the march outdoors. Her sisters, thank God, followed suit.
Mr. Bingley, the only man remaining in their cluster, obligingly offered his arm. Elizabeth duly ignored it, stepping forward with Mary instead.
The Longbourn gardens, so dear to Elizabeth before, felt oddly misplaced to her today. There were no winding paths like Pemberley, and her sister, however kind, was a poor replacement for her stately husband. The Hertfordshire blooms whispered of home - all while reminding Elizabeth that this was her home no longer.
"Miss Mary," a voice emerged behind them. Elizabeth sighed as the both of them turned.
"Yes, Mr. Bingley?" Mary dutifully replied.
"Your sisters have something to show you, I believe."
"In the house?"
"No - in the - yes, on the other side of the house."
Mary, apparently not finding anything odd with the information, thanked Mr. Bingley and hurried away.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed as her sister's husband approached.
"It is difficult to find you alone, Elizabeth," Mr. Bingley spoke with a low tone.
Elizabeth looked up only to glare at the man. "Perhaps that is by design, Mr. Bingley."
"We are family, are we not?"
"Not of the kind you suggest that we are."
A fleeting look of anger flitted across his face. Her barbs, it seemed, had begun to grate on him at last.
"Elizabeth, I come in peace," he spoke with clearly measured intensity.
"Do you?" She crossed her arms. "And, pray, tell, what sort of peace spurs you to declare your affections for a woman who is not your wife?"
"A woman whom I have always cared for - more than any other creature I know."
"Mr. Bingley!"
"Again, call me Charles!"
"I do not see why I should."
"Have our passions meant nothing to you?" He raised his voice. She stepped backward in the face of his now-apparent anger. "Night after night, I have longed for you, Elizabeth. Night after night, I hold the limpness of your sister's body and wish it were the warm-blooded rush of yours!"
"Mr. Bingley! You do not know of what you speak!"
"I know fully what I mean." He lunged forward. She stepped back once more to avoid colliding with him. "I love you, Elizabeth, and you must know that I always, always have."
"You speak nonsense."
"You know I do not."
"Your words make no sense - you claim to know things that are clearly untrue! You - "
"I love you! And you love me!" He grasped her by the shoulders before she could evade him. "Why is it so difficult for you to admit this very truth!"
The sound of collective gasping interrupted the height of their argument. Elizabeth pulled her eyes away from her aggressor to behold, one one side of the garden, her sisters, her mother, her father, and her husband standing with frowns and gaping mouths. On the other side, nearer to the road, a pale Jane shuddered before her carriage.
It was an altogether nightmare.
A/N: I don't remember having hurried the plot along so quickly, but here we are. Thank you to everyone who has shared their enthusiastic responses!