"I -- I hope you have been well, Miss Bennet -- that is, better -- than you were, before," Darcy floundered.
Elizabeth smiled. Clearly, his conversational skills had not improved. She had never dreamed such maladroitness could be endearing. "I am quite well, now, thank you."
"I -- your sister -- "
"Jane is very protective," Elizabeth supplied. "I am really very well."
He smiled brightly, with a brief glance and a flush. "You -- I am glad to hear it. Er, I do not know if Mrs Bingley told you, about your, your other sister . . .?"
"Lydia?"
"Yes." He looked down, his colour even higher. "I -- I brought her, and your nephews and niece, with me."
Elizabeth bit back the reply that instantly sprang to her lips, and instead said, "Yes, Jane mentioned that you intended to. I must apologise, sir, for her terrible impertinence in coming to Pemberley the way she did."
"It is quite all right," he assured her.
"No," said Elizabeth, looking him in the eye, "it is not all right." At his astonished expression, she hastily added, "I beg your pardon, sir, for my frankness, but it is really -- it is beyond the pale, that she should importune you, after what you had already done for her. I must apologise, since she will certainly never do so herself, nor understand the necessity."
Darcy did not seem to quite know how to take this. "Miss Bennet -- " He sighed, shifted Anne's sleeping form, and said carefully, "Miss Bennet, I hope you understand that I do not wish for your gratitude. However, if it will relieve your mind at all, I will accept your apology, with the understanding that it is solely on Mrs Wickham's account."
She could not keep from laughing, softly, at his response. Nothing is ever simple with you, is it? "Very well, then." She sighed. "You have seen her and I have not, sir. Is she very much changed?"
"I -- " a fleeting frown crossed his face -- "in essentials, I believe not. But -- Miss Bennet -- I believe you should be warned -- " he turned slightly towards her, absently caressing Anne's hair, "Miss Bennet, in externals, your sister is very much changed. Her life has not been an easy one, nor a happy one, and she deserves pity if not respect." There was no rebuke in his tone, nor did she believe any was intended, but nevertheless she felt it.
"Is it that bad?" she asked softly, and Darcy looked at her with a troubled expression.
"Yes. And there are children -- she only brought the eldest with her, but there are others. These three are better, now that they have been properly clothed and looked after. For the first month complete, all that was required on my part was to feed them three times a day, and they were content."
Lydia, oh, you poor, stupid girl. Why did you do this to yourself? But you are not the only one concerned in it. These poor children, and dear Jane, who will never convince herself that anyone could be so bad as this, and Mr Darcy, who will never convince himself that he is not responsible for it.
"Those poor children. Surely something can be done?" At his grave look, she turned her head away, and said, "But what of the other three months, sir?"
Darcy smiled reluctantly. "Children will be children, Miss Bennet." Awkwardly changing the subject, he said, "How do you like Baildon? It is not Netherfield's size, but more pleasing, I think."
"Yes, it is very lovely," she said, raising her eyebrows to make certain he knew she was not fooled. "The woods are pleasant to walk in, although I never had the opportunity before today."
"But you have been here since June!"
Elizabeth's lips thinned. "Yes."
"I beg your pardon -- but I thought -- you used to enjoy walking so much," he said confusedly. "At Rosings -- " colour rose in his cheeks, his eyes widened a little, and he stopped talking.
"I still do," she said hastily, disliking the sudden frozen expression on his face. "I could not -- Jane is so -- " she stopped, uncertain of whether such frankness would be welcomed, but only saw him watching her with a look of polite interest. "As I said, Jane is very protective."
"Oh," he said, and smiled a little. "I'm sorry." She arched a brow, not able to believe him, and he explained, "I too have a sister."
Elizabeth could not imagine that sweet, frightened Miss Darcy could ever treat him as Jane did her; but six years was a long time, and even longer for a girl of that age. Miss Darcy was older now than Elizabeth had been when --
"When I was a little unwell last year, she was so fierce, she frightened me into submission," he said, smiling rather shyly. Elizabeth tried to picture this and failed.
"Fierce? Miss Darcy?" She almost added, submission? You?
"Lady Westhampton now," Darcy said ruefully. "She married not long after your sister and Bingley. Ah, here we are." He gently woke Anne up, setting her down, and helped Elizabeth up the steps, earning a smile from both. Shrill voices could be heard even from here, one easily recognisable as Lydia's. Elizabeth inhaled deeply.
"I should, er, probably not intrude," Darcy said, but even as he stepped away, Elizabeth reached out one hand and said,
"Don't!"
The look of mixed surprise and pleasure on his face forced her to explain herself. "Please -- " she took a deep breath -- "I do not wish to face them alone." He, thankfully, required nothing further.
"Anne, go play with Sarah, she's in the nursery." Anne ran off, and Darcy after a pause offered his arm, which Elizabeth gladly took. She had not even thought of her youngest sister in years -- had not considered Lydia nor her children -- and the terrible guilt she felt for this, as well as for her old failure in regard to Wickham, was almost paralysing. Darcy's arm was warm and real beneath her fingers, and she forced a smile on her face as she entered.
"Lizzy!" Lydia leapt to her feet. "Well, I am glad to see you. You are looking very well. I thought you should be all old and washed-out, but you are almost pretty." Old and washed-out described Lydia far better than Elizabeth. It took all she had simply to keep her countenance, when she looked at Lydia, tired, worn, and bruised, and yet still the same selfish, unfeeling girl she had always been.
"Thank you, Lydia," she said dryly. "Where are your children?"
"Oh -- " Lydia flapped a hand -- "running mad somewhere, I'm sure."
"In the nursery, Mrs Wickham, with the other children," Darcy interjected austerely, and Elizabeth, knowing that every eye would be on them, reluctantly dropped her hand and moved to her sister's side. Lydia was a little different; there was a self-consciousness to her brashness that she had lacked before -- as if her intent was to make life as unpleasant as possible for everyone around her. And yet she treated Elizabeth with more warmth than she had ever shown before, and towards Darcy there was something like deference. Bingley and Jane, however, received a thoughtlessness bordering on contempt, and Elizabeth winced more than once for their sake.
She thought it could not possibly be more excruciatingly painful; then, Lady Elliot descended, and after one derisive look at Lydia, addressed herself solely to her brother and sister and Mr Darcy. Surprisingly, the latter exerted himself to defuse the situation somewhat, treating both unwelcome ladies with forbearance, joining Jane in the effort to include disparate parties in the conversation. By the time Lady Elliot departed and Lydia gave a large, theatrical yawn, Jane looked tired and worn, and Darcy still worse.
He is so different -- and the thought took her by surprise. There was a cold reserve to his speech still, particularly when he spoke to Mrs Bennet or Lady Elliot, yet the veiled barbs and faintly satirical eye were gone. Most noticeable was his manner towards Lydia -- unvaryingly gentle, as if she were a fragile doll -- and which she, astonishingly, responded to. There was a rather pathetic gratitude, and even awe, in her behaviour towards him, in the way that she would turn, wide-eyed, to him and appeal to his opinion -- "you do think so, Mr Darcy?" Elizabeth could not help but wonder.
Yet even while she liked him better for his more compassionate ways, she missed the flash of sudden sharp brilliance that had always startled her before. Perhaps it could cut -- but it had been him, and -- by the end -- she had loved all of him, just as he was. Their union -- for, according to Jane, he would have asked her, and she certainly would have accepted -- would not have been easy, they were such difficult, obstinate, headstrong people, but it would have been -- she searched for a word. Beautiful -- and strange -- and -- oh -- sweet and gentle and overwhelming and intense altogether. Why, why, why?
She looked at him, sitting a little away from all the others, quiet and quiescent, the candelight reflecting on his cheek and hair, making him appear somehow otherworldly. She felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch him -- imagined, with a smile, what chaos would ensue if she did -- and, fixing her eyes on him, felt such life running through her veins, as she had thought drained out of her long ago. If, six years ago, she had but reached out her hand -- and now?
---
Elizabeth laughed to see Jane creeping into her room, as if they were girls again. "Jane, will not Bingley miss you?"
"No," said Jane, smiling, "he sleeps very soundly." She looked at Elizabeth earnestly. "You were very quiet this evening, Elizabeth. You are well?"
"I really thought I talked as much as ever," Elizabeth said, and Jane smiled, shaking her head. "Oh, dear. Do you think anyone noticed?"
"Bingley did, and probably Mr Darcy also." Jane hesitated. "I did want to speak to you about him. Mr Darcy I mean, not Bingley."
"Yes, of course." Elizabeth wondered if she was about to be asked if her intentions were honourable. Jane twisted her fingers together.
"I know I am not very clever, Lizzy, and can be rather fussy on occasion, but I am very concerned for you. Do anything rather than marry without affection. Mr Darcy is -- oh, he is a fine man, and I do not think you shall meet his like again -- but if you cannot care for him (and I do not -- will not -- blame you if that is the case), then . . ." She frowned, then looked up again. "My dearest Lizzy," she said affectionately, and reached out to clasp Elizabeth's hand. "We -- all of us -- only wish you to be happy. You were so unlike yourself this evening that I did not know what to think. On your walk, did anything happen? -- oh, I do not mean to be impertinent, truly, I am only so worried for you both."
Elizabeth smiled, stroking her sister's hand, then raised her head to meet Jane's anxious, loving eyes. "Oh, Jane -- that you need not worry about -- the lack of affection. That is -- " she laughed a little shakily -- "not the -- difficulty."
Jane's dark brows drew together. "I do not understand, Lizzy. Do you -- " she hesitated -- "do you care about him?"
She felt all of her feelings, hidden for the years, those that had made her weep with shame, and those that she had treasured, as if she could put them in a box with jewellery and an old letter, rising up within her, and looked at Jane. Then, with a queer blend of resignation and elation, she tightened her hold on Jane's strong, narrow fingers, and closed her eyes. "Yes, Jane, I do -- a great deal," she said steadily.
"Oh, I am so glad!" Jane took a deep breath. "Then, Lizzy, why do you not -- that is -- " she faltered. Elizabeth smiled and lifted her head.
"I -- I'm afraid, Jane." There. She had said it. "Jane, it has been so long since I dared do anything for myself -- and I have no right, no claim on his affections -- and what if . . ."
"What if . . ." Jane echoed, a little confused.
"If I show my -- affection -- oh, I do not know -- Jane, what do I do?" She searched her sister's eyes. "He loved me seven years ago, and he loved me five years ago, and two years ago -- but what if he doesn't anymore? What if -- what if there's someone else. Even that woman he married, he is so -- steadfast, what if she is the one he truly loves? How can I expose myself to him, after all this time? Jane, I do not dare -- I can scarcely keep myself from shaking -- oh, I know it does not seem so, to him particularly, but if I do it, if I make my feelings known -- what if -- it is terribly silly, I know, I really ought to laugh over it, but I confess, I cannot find much amusement in it -- but this way, there is still hope -- do you understand?"
"Not entirely," Jane confessed, with a shy smile, and both laughed. "Elizabeth, would you mind very much if I -- if I offered you my opinion?"
Startled, Elizabeth replied, "Of course not."
Jane took a deep breath. "If you do not express your feelings in some manner to him, neither of you will ever be able to do more than hope. And hope is a marvellous thing, Lizzy; but it is very cold comfort sometimes, when the reality is so close. I know, Lizzy -- our situations are not the same -- but all those months that he was gone -- he truly believed me to be indifferent, because I did not dare risk myself. It is a terrible thing, to live with a broken heart, but still worse is to know it could have been different."
"Yes," said Elizabeth, a tear sliding down her cheek, "yes, yes, it is."
"I think -- of course this is only my opinion, and I would not presume to tell you what to do -- " Elizabeth, through her tears, bit back a smile at this -- "but somehow, you must tell him how you feel, or he will never know." Conspiratorially, she lowered her voice and added, "Men are very obtuse sometimes."
Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, they are. Then, wisest of sisters -- " she smiled to make certain Jane realised the gravity beneath her words -- "that is your advice?"
"You have only to reach out to him," Jane said gently. "Do you love him, Lizzy?"
"Yes, yes, I do." Her grip on Jane's fingers was mildly painful, but Mrs Bingley was not about to mention it.
"Then -- " she smiled, and kissed Elizabeth's cheek. "You must only be brave for a little while. He is a great man, Lizzy, and I do not speak of his consequence. I am so very happy for you."
And the truth shall make you free. Elizabeth returned her sister's embrace, and once Jane left, blew out the candle. I need only dare.