Chapter 59
Elizabeth's head was heavy when it hit the pillow but she could not make herself sleep. Her father arriving, in such a defeated state, erased what optimism had aroused from seeing Darcy. She felt guilty for feeling safe in his arms earlier, while her youngest sister faced dangers she was likely entirely ignorant of.
She knew; she had seen it coming. She had determined to check Lydia, and open her eyes to Wickham. Until her own selfishness intervened; she didn't spare a thought for Lydia when she had decided to escape Longbourn and leave for London. Her mind was consumed with her own matters, fighting her own feelings. Not once did she think of her younger sister until she received the letter. Selfish, silly girl, she thought, suddenly thinking herself worse than Lydia. She had known better, her sister did not.
She wondered if that was the reason she had lashed out at the mention of her mother earlier. If so, she knew that was unjust. This hadn't happened because her mother drove her from Longbourn. She could have insisted on speaking with Darcy privately and remained at Longborn to see to her sister, sparing them all a great deal of agony, but no, she hadn't even thought of it until now. She was hardly the only victim of her temper; Darcy suffered, Lydia suffered, all of her sisters suffered. Yet, in her agony, she still had the hope of a husband who truly loved her, in spite of it all. That hardly seemed just, that she who could have prevented so much misery was the most likely to have the happiest ending.
Everything she wished to call Lydia to vent her anger; thoughtless, selfish, foolish, impertinent, she could recognize in her own actions over the last few days. They were the most alike out of all the sisters, though Elizabeth did not recognize it until now. Neither was shy; nor did they shy from attention. Neither was afraid to defend their position; though they did so differently. Both were impertinent; though Elizabeth knew the polite limit and how to behave in society. She knew what she could respectably get away with; Lydia either did not know or did not care. Elizabeth realized that the difference between the two of them may very well have been which parent favored them.
Every bit of her reason rebelled against that thought, as her character and her morals were clearly better suited to polite society than her sisters. She would never be so vulgar and unrestrained, and yet could she have said the same without her father and aunt's gentle guidance? What if she had only her mother's encouragement to flirt, instead of her father's encouragement to debate? If her tantrums had been rewarded with receiving her own way? What if she had never experienced consequences, thus never considered her actions? It chilled Elizabeth to the bone, thinking what her own frame of mind may have been absent the better examples she had been afforded.
What would it be like to be that ignorant? With little ability to reason or truly think through a matter? Elizabeth could not imagine herself that way, robbed of the analytical thought process, how could anyone truly discern their own wishes with such a mindset. Everything would be driven by pettiness and jealousy, impulse, and the opinions of others. What would it be like to be such a slave to the desire to be envied by others, because it was your only gauge of what was worth having?
Elizabeth attempted to find the means to completely acquit herself, on her own merit, outside the influence she had received from others, but it wouldn't do. She knew she would be less without the people who had invested in her, taught her right from wrong and why it mattered to interact with proper behavior, thus making her better, more than what she could have been on her own. Her introspection resulted in little sleep, but far more sympathy for her wayward sister.