Mr. Darcy did not see Elizabeth Bennet, the woman who occupied day by day an ever larger portion of his waking and his dreaming thoughts, until the fourth day following that eventful dinner at Longbourn.
He had feared the Bennet family would enter deep mourning, and he would not see Miss Bennet again for several weeks. By such a late date he would have neared the projected end of his so far delightful stay at Netherfield.
However when Mr. Darcy arrived at Lucas Lodge for a supper party with Mr. Bingley, Mr. Hurst and Mrs. Hurst, he found Elizabeth along with her father and mother already present in the low ceilinged drawing room.
She wore a lovely light yellow dress that left her fine rounded arms bare, and allowed Darcy to admire the glowing skin above Elizabeth's collarbone. She smiled brilliantly at him, and drawn happily by her delight in seeing him, Darcy swiftly stood near to Elizabeth — she was too dear a friend to be that distant Miss Bennet in his mind. But that meant nothing beyond that they were intimate acquaintances who valued each other greatly. "You look lovely—" Darcy flushed slightly as he realized he had complimented her person, and as he saw Elizabeth's smile brighten. "I worried you would not come in company, for at least a while longer."
"No, no — I am determined to visit my friends, no matter that Mr. Hawdry determined it was incumbent upon himself to die."
There was something odd about Elizabeth… her appearance, her manner… something. This niggled at the back of Darcy's mind. But he could not pinpoint immediately what.
"When shall your sister return to Longbourn? — I can imagine what melancholy I would feel were my sister's husband to depart."
"Yes. Only a week more." Elizabeth shrugged. She spoke with an unusually flat tone. "She claims to long for home, to be surrounded by us — if what life she had built in Downling for herself cannot hold her, it is sensible to return to her new settled location quick as can."
"You do not sound…" Darcy shook his head. "Shall you refrain from entering company for her sake, once she has arrived?"
"Have you a particular interest in my answer?" Elizabeth replied archly, a mischievous light in her eyes.
Darcy laughed at himself, and smiled at her, and he liked to see how she smiled back at him. Her brown eyes striking as always. "I speak as a selfish creature, caring nothing for your unhappiness at the death of a man I have never met."
"I shall forgive you, Mr. Darcy, as your selfishness lies in desiring more of my company. And being a vain woman, as you are a vain man—"
"I would protest, but you have already rejected such protest, and insisted I am vain."
Elizabeth laughed, and Darcy was glad to see that despite somewhat less enthusiasm than her normal manner, she had not been cast low and dejected by the death of her brother-in-law.
"As a vain woman, I like when men such as yourself display such selfishness."
"What did he die of — I cannot imagine Mr. Hawdry was very old if he had married your sister."
"No, neither very young. Some fever, inflammation of the lungs. Something." Elizabeth flapped her hand back and forth, dismissing the question. "Jane hardly wrote out a proper retelling of whatever quackery the doctors blamed his death upon — understandable. Understandable under the circumstances — Mr. Hawdry caught sick during a dutiful pastoral visit, and I can only rejoice that he did not deliver the contagion to Jane or one of the children."
"Simply like that, and so fast." Darcy grimaced. "Momento mori."
Elizabeth wagged her finger in front of Darcy's face.
This was the third or fourth time she had made that gesture in his presence; it must be one of her habitual forms of action. "No, no — say nothing like that. Always morose. We are always morose after someone dies. Everyone clatters on upon the commonness of death, its suddenness; how we should each and every one think upon how we might slip away in an instant. The consequence of every death is that we each find ourselves obliged to say the same over-worn trite phrases, again. And again. And then yet one or two more times again. It kills by boredom when the disease killed by killing."
"Miss Bennet, that is not… your normal manner. You do despise the trite — but there is nothing trite about our departure from this world. Death is not a matter to make jest about."
"Why ever not? Following the black death, they decorated every house and church with grinning skulls — I do not wish to make jest of Mr. Hawdry's death. I wish merely to avoid thought upon it. I am bored with it. We each shall die all the same no matter how much or how little we speak upon it: No talk of death!"
"You are not wearing the black armband for your brother, like your parents."
It gave Darcy an uncomfortable feeling, to see Elizabeth acting in an exaggeratedly improper manner, when he expected her to be… unconventional, but not sneering at a matter of such seriousness as mourning conventions, and the death of her own brother-in-law. It was like she was not so good, and not so moral as he imagined her.
Of course a woman who would let Wickham have his way with her would not be moral nor good.
Elizabeth stood tall and said with a firm, unapologetic voice, "No. No I have chosen not to."
It was unspoken, but clear, she was challenging him, saying he could think ill of her as he wished.
"I had thought something off — when I saw you. Why not? That is a sunny dress. Are you happy that he is deceased?"
"Uncaring. Not happy." Elizabeth almost snarled. "Will you despise me for not showing a proper display of sadness at the death of a man who was connected to me, most unseemly, to not care about his death?"
"How did he hurt you?"
"Yes, of course you assume he hurt me. If I tell you how, the end shall be that you preach forgiveness and Christian goodness at me. That I admit my sins, and humbly suffer for them. Mr. Hawdry cared nothing for my approbation. I do not make myself miserable over him. He was nothing to me. And now he is nothing to anyone but the Almighty. The old tale claims that the inquisitors of Spain would burn at auto-da-fé the innocent with the guilty, God would separate out the wheat from the chaff, the innocent from the guilty. It falls to the heavens alone to sort his fate."
"Such anger…" This was an aspect of Elizabeth he had not seen before.
"I am not angry at Mr. Hawdry."
"Then who? For you are clearly angry."
"Jane." Elizabeth snarled out her sister's name.
Several other guests looked over at them. Lady Lucas came up to the two, overweight, plump and with a grandmotherly smile.
"My dear Eliza." She patted Elizabeth on her annoyed cheek. "I could lend you bombazine if you have none of your own — poor Jane! Our poor Jane. They say he left nothing for her. If I imagine the same happening to my Charlotte — though Mr. Collins's living is rather better, and she has set aside a little, against such a happenstance."
"I will see Jane cared for."
"Two children. And nothing to live off. They shall live with you — it is so good that you are back in Longbourn once more. You shall be a great help to your sister. They will need much attention. She shall chiefly find her happiness in caring for her children. They will be the source of what little happiness that can be left to her in this abandoned world."
"She will, I know, mourn Mr. Hawdry greatly."
There was clear bitterness in the uninflected way Elizabeth spoke.
Darcy did not like that. His Elizabeth was supposed to be a happy creature. But now… now that he saw it was hurt at the heart of Elizabeth's refusal to wear mourning, he was angry at himself for his early thoughts about how it spoke ill of her that she chose to not wear mourning.
And he'd sworn to himself not to think ill of her, or any other woman, for having been seduced by a rake, and yet he had despite knowing Elizabeth as a dear friend. Darcy had a sense of being ashamed of himself. He had a sense of… subtly reevaluating everything he thought he knew about Elizabeth, and seeing her clearly, without that tint to his thoughts of her being one of those women.
"Such a handsome man." Lady Lucas sighed, shaking her head side to side, and patting Elizabeth familiarly on the arm. "Not wealthy, not easy mannered, but so, so handsome — I always expected Jane to marry someone whose mode of expression was softer — for example like your friend, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley..."
"Jane chose. She had the right to choose," Elizabeth said, rather crossly. "Her choice was Mr. Hawdry — I shall not stay so long at Longbourn as to be a proper nursing aunt to my nieces."
"My dear Eliza," Lady Lucas said, "Such adorable girls. You and Jane had been so close. You shall love to have her again — I prophecy that you'll not leave Longbourn soon again."
Elizabeth had that fixed sweet smile that Darcy could perceive meant she was most unhappy. Her hand was clenched in a hard fist. Darcy felt tense too, to see Elizabeth unhappy.
After a few minutes more Lady Lucas left them alone, and Elizabeth let out a hard sigh. She gestured with her head, and led Darcy to a more isolated corner of the room, where they sat down in two winged velvet armchairs, thus making it so they were occluded from the rest of the room, which would have greatly more difficulty to hear them speak. "I have never even seen my nieces. Mr. Hawdry declared, after the sole time the two of us met, when I visited Jane from London following her marriage, that we were neither to speak nor correspond again."
"Why?" Darcy shook his head and held up his hand. "No, Miss Bennet, you need not reply to my curiosity. I can guess well enough."
"He expected to find me repentant, crying shame at my every sin, and believing myself barely worthy of the air I breathed. Well d-d… I do not. I'll never apologize. Never. Not to any man. Not for being who I am. And I'll never defend myself. Never again. If you desire to despise me, you may. You may despise me as much as you will. I do not need you. Nor anyone."
"Everyone needs those around them." Poor Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet, we are all creatures of society, even I, who am less inclined to concourse with my fellow man than most, I know I need others very much."
"I need society! I have spoken on that at great length with you, you know. But beyond that — beyond a simple conversation, and friendship, I know I can trust no one."
"That is a harsh attitude."
"Not my father, in the end. Not my mother — not my sisters for certainty. I was close to Jane. Very. She simply did as told. She chose to obey Mr. Hawdry. And finis."
"You cannot…" Darcy hesitated. He did not want to argue with Elizabeth, not when she was so passionate, and so hurt.
"What? I have heard from Papa the same — I have heard it from myself. Charlotte wrote upon this to me as well — I cannot expect a woman to ignore the orders of her husband. It is ridiculous to expect that Jane would choose a sister, a sinful, besmirched sister, over her husband. Over the man upon whose goodwill she depended upon in every way, the man whose conjugal embrace she shared nightly — I expected more. I expected better from Jane."
Elizabeth pulled her legs in tighter towards herself and pressed herself back into her armchair, further away from Mr. Darcy, turning her head to the side and not looking towards him. When Darcy said nothing, she glanced sidelong at him, from the edge of her eyes, without moving her head.
"So now you hate her?"
"Hate?" Elizabeth blinked. Seeming stunned. "Hate… Jane? — my speech sounds as though I despise her. But…"
Darcy tried to imagine what it might be like if a close family member followed such an order to never speak to him. What if he and Georgiana's husband fell into the outs for some strange reason? Darcy would expect Georgiana to assiduously attempt peacemaking, but if such proved impossible, he would give her every blessing to choose her husband's side.
That was what was right. He would expect the same of his wife.
"I hurt for you, Miss Bennet. You have suffered."
"I have not — I have learned. Suffering… suffering implies… suffering implies I am an object to be pitied. I am not pitiable. I am independent. I do not depend upon anyone for my wellbeing and happiness; I do not need anyone."
Darcy could not reply to that. He looked at her steadily, with some tender emotion for this fine woman aching in his chest. She had done wrong, but she deserved her dignity, her happiness, and everything else. She did deserve better.
He wished he could give her everything.
"Oh, stop! Do not pity me! Heavens! I am happy; you see how I am happy. I have found a place where none of it matters — ridiculous for Charlotte to defend Jane in her letters. Mr. Collins gave her the same order, when the scandal first was discovered. Charlotte ignored Mr. Collins, and Charlotte continued to write to me through disguise — you despise all forms of dissimulation, so perhaps I ought not admit so much of a mutual acquaintance to you. But I valued such friendship. I needed her friendship at the time."
"Do you still communicate in secret?"
"No, no. Mr. Collins is a man who can be led by women. His chiefest virtue. Once a suitable time had passed, Charlotte buttered him bright with nonsense about how I was repentant, how he should act like Christ speaking to the harlots, and how the place of a vicar's wife is to send nourishment to the souls of sinners. I did need to endure his lectures when we met in London, but Mr. Collins only wishes to hear himself speak. He did not probe for true contrition upon my part, or a true belief in my lowness and inferiority. Mr. Hawdry was a more incisive man than my cousin, who is mostly harmless."
Darcy opened his mouth, and then shut it.
His place was not to argue with Elizabeth, but the fact that Mr. Hawdry had been incisive and not harmless like Mr. Collins — Darcy considered him one of the dreadfullest bores he had ever met — gave Elizabeth's sister some better excuse for not contradicting her husband.
While Darcy did not judge Elizabeth for her mistake — less now than ever before, Elizabeth was Elizabeth, and he could only see her as good — if he did not know and… admire Elizabeth and understand her, he would be quite hesitant to allow a young woman of his acquaintance to enter terms of intimacy with a woman who was angrier by far at society for how they treated her sin than at herself for having embarked upon it. Though he never would have separated two loving sisters on such an account.
"I do not judge Mrs. Collins — it is difficult. Difficult. She showed true Christian charity, from the judgement of Christ, I am sure she did well — for you to admit you needed her then… you must have been most unhappy."
"I was." Her voice was a little mournful.
"There is often evil in every action — a woman ought obey her husband, but she also ought never cut a dear friend who is in pain… difficult. I do not know that there is some single answer that is right in every case. But I am happy you are my friend. I am happy for you that Mrs. Collins chose you rather than her husband, and I like her the better for it."
Elizabeth looked at him. Rather than her normal smile, there was something more serious in her eyes as she peered at him. "You would take my side without concern for the right of it."
"I… I… It depends on how deeply in the wrong you were — but was it not a matter of murder, or of… of treason against the crown. Or something which the doing of entirely overthrew my understanding of your essential character, yes."
"But… but see. What if I am accused of such a thing? Accused of… of a treason. Would you believe me, when I insist innocence? Or would you believe the party against me?"
"You. Should you look into my eye and swear your innocence, and I would trust your word against that of every man in England."
The two of them fell silent for a time.
Darcy felt as though he had declared rather more than he had meant to. And that was ridiculous in a way — he could not actually be confident Elizabeth would never commit any crime… but he could trust her over anyone else. Maybe if there was some objective proof… but yes. If it was a matter of her word against the word of another, he would always trust her word.
"Mr. Collins is quite happy with our arrangement—" Elizabeth said quietly, as if to fill the silence. "Sends a page of sermon upon sinfulness with Charlotte's letters every month or two. I save them, they have proven of great value when I must give voice to particularly pompous fools in my novels."
Darcy barked out a laugh. "Lord Mountain! From your fourth book. I only finished it yesterday. I thought he sounded familiar."
Elizabeth laughed, her mood lightening appreciably. "Yes, yes — when I wrote his speeches, I had a recent letter from Mr. Collins open before me. Charlotte particularly appreciated the character. She is happier by far than I ever could have credited a woman of sense could be with such a man, but she is by no means blind to Mr. Collins's faults."
"Mr. Collins is most fortunate that he encountered perhaps the only woman of sense in England who could have been prevailed upon to marry him, and who then could prevail upon herself to be happy in the situation — she and Cousin Anne have become dear friends."
"Yes — but let us not censure poor Mr. Collins whilst he is not here to defend himself. You have broached a topic which is closer by far to my heart. How did you like Mountain and Valley?"
Darcy allowed the subject to be changed, and they discussed the book of Elizabeth's he had just completed. But he wondered that night as the carriage took them back home to Netherfield: How would Elizabeth be able to live with her sister when she felt such animus towards her?