1812
"It is so strange. I used to love summer. I still love summer," Elizabeth whispered, looking at the men carrying heavy coffers out of the house, while the maids were covering the furniture with long, flowing white sheets. "But standing here in the heat, looking at my entire existence being dismantled before my eyes…It is an uncanny impression."
Elizabeth was dressed in black. She looked like an elegant stranger, a mysterious lady Darcy could have crossed paths with on the road, and admired from afar, before fates separated them forever.
"I must apologize, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth continued, with one of those sweet, smiles he had really learned to value. "Here I am, feeling sorry for myself. Shirking my duty as an English woman. We are supposed to stay stern and stoic against all adversity, you know."
"My dear Elizabeth," Darcy said with emotion, and she raised her eyes to him, surprised, but not displeased. "You have been stern and stoic for four months. You are allowed to show some weakness, you are allowed a little bout of melancholy, after the disappearance of a beloved father, and when your entire life is in upheaval. Come and have dinner with us at Pemberley tonight. Georgiana and Caroline will love to have you."
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.
"Georgiana will love to have you," Darcy corrected. They both smiled, and it was wonderful, this complicity, born of years of—how to define it? Intellectual and emotional intimacy? If Darcy was asked to describe their relationship, he would be at loss for words. "But really, we are both being unjust. I do believe Caroline would welcome you—this time."
"Because I am leaving."
"Because you are leaving, and you are leaving for London. She will be able to give you advice at last. Please, do come and eat with us. You have a generous heart, you shall wish to make Caroline happy, I am sure."
"As enticing as this offer is…" Elizabeth looked around her and sighed. "Charles arrives tomorrow, and we will depart at once. Sadly, I fear I cannot be spared tonight. If my attention wavers, father's clothes will be delivered to a girls' school and family documents will end up at the bottom of the Thames, or in a coach headed for Aberdeen. I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but I must most respectfully decline."
Darcy nodded. Feeling bereft—for a dinner invitation. How senseless.
Elizabeth looked around. The windows were open. Outside a summer breeze was singing.
"Oh, I wish I could stay," she cried—she had tears in her eyes and Darcy forgot all about his irrational disappointment. He took her gloved hands in his.
"You will come back. You will visit; you know Pemberley is always open to you. Georgiana is home so often now, you will travel with her, and together you will roam the countryside again, and scare honest farmers on your early morning walks."
"Or I will end up married to a—" Elizabeth brusquely paused. "Lord, what am saying? Please let me apologize again," she said, wiping her eyes quickly. "What a horrid fate is mine, really. To be young and rich and sent to town to enjoy the beauties of the capital. I am sorry. My attitude is unpardonable."
"Dreadful."
At least he still knew how to make her laugh.
-PP-
Dinner in Pemberley was as expected. Not dull, anything but dull, dull would have been bearable, but Caroline was in a fine mood, deploying all her powers of conversation, trying to draw Darcy into her elaborate net of seduction and fashionable talk.
And he would have to join the ladies in the drawing room after the meal. He would have to endure it for at least an hour. He must; he had a guest, and not any friend of Georgiana, but Bingley's sister—yes, he ought to stay. Caroline's visit would soon be over after all.
If Elizabeth had been here the meal would have seemed more palatable. Darcy and Elizabeth never made fun of Caroline in her presence, even silently. It would have been cruel—and unseemly. "Just think of what Jane would say!" Elizabeth had laughed one day when they had mentioned the subject. "Anyway, Caroline is my sister now," she had added, with an imperceptible sigh.
As long as she is not my wife, Darcy silently thought. Caroline Bingley's efforts to become the next mistress of Pemberley were something he and Elizabeth had never spoken about.
Mr. Bennet had warned him, though. "Come into the study, my boy," he had said one night, more than a year ago. Darcy had happily obeyed—he always enjoyed their conversations.
Elizabeth's father could be very direct when he wished to, and this night he had been, telling Darcy that Miss Caroline Bingley was setting her cap at him. And why not, but Darcy could do better, Mr. Bennet stated—Darcy's parents would have wanted him to do better.
"It is rather ironic I should warn you against the danger of an unequal marriage," Mr. Bennet continued. They were having tea, not brandy. Mr. Bennet's health was already in decline, but his mind was still as sharp. "You know quite well that when I married Fanny, I… I went outside my sphere, as some would say. And to be honest, choosing her might have been a mistake, in retrospect. But how can I regret it when she gave me those two wonderful girls?"
Darcy nodded. He could not imagine his childhood without their joyful group—he and Bingley, Jane and Elizabeth, growing up under the watchful eye of Miss Taylor.
"To be honest, your advice is ambiguous, sir," was Darcy's amused answer. "But let me reassure you on the main point—I have no intention to wed Miss Bingley. As charming as she is—and I wish her the best—I must… As you say, I owe to my parents, to Pemberley, to do better."
"Ah, but now I am going to confuse the matter even more, Fitzwilliam. You have to do better, indeed, but not necessarily in terms of rank or fortune. When I married Fanny…" Mr. Bennet sighed. "One does not speak ill of the dead. But I wished I had chosen someone with more conversation, is all. One should wed their intellectual equal. See, how modern I am being."
They had discussed the matter a bit, but then Darcy had alluded to some Latin text whose translation was not to Mr. Bennet's satisfaction, and this topic had taken the better part of an hour, and almost the entirety of another teapot.
"Oh, I wish I could stay!" Elizabeth had said, and Darcy heard her voice all night. He heard it when Caroline graced them with a concerto—she played beautifully, and the duets with Georgiana that followed were of a quality to please even the more demanding London drawing room. But Elizabeth's anguished cry still resonated, and Darcy heard it when he went back to his chambers, glancing at the night outside in the park. He heard it when he went to bed. He could not sleep—Elizabeth's image now haunted him, not the friend he had known all these years, but the elegant lady in dark.
Black suited her, Darcy thought. And what a disrespectful idea to entertain, when a dear friend was in mourning. But—it did. Her figure, her skin, were enhanced by the somber colors—Darcy forcibly put these ideas away as inappropriate, not anything to feel guilty of, he decided, just the confused, irrational shamble of half-formed visions and notions that accompanied the descent into slumber.
But then another idea formed in his mind, clear and sharp.
And now he really could not find sleep.
-PP-
It was still early in the morning when Darcy rode back to Hartfield. Much too early for a normal visit, but Elizabeth would not mind. He had to see her alone, before the dreaded farewell visits and before Bingley's arrival.
She was awake and ready—Darcy knew she would be, with so much to do. "I come for business," he explained with an apologetic smile. She gave a weary smile back, and soon they were both alone in the blue saloon, one of his favorites. The room was still habitable, they found two chairs and a nice table not yet protected by a cotton shroud. Jane had painted the table ages ago, Darcy remembered. Seeing it with a few years' distance, they might have praised the feat a little more than it deserved.
Coffee was brought, and Elizabeth amiably poured them two cups. She seemed happy to see him, or maybe to have a pretext for a pause in her duties.
Darcy hesitated. It had seemed such a rational proposition when he was alone, but now that he was facing the lady, the whole matter seemed more difficult. He shook away his discomfort. He had a duty to accomplish, and gentlemen never avoided those.
"My dear Elizabeth," Darcy began. "I gave the situation a lot of thought yesterday, and I feel— I feel we should get married."
Elizabeth's eyes widened with shock and Darcy gave a new, sad smile. "Think of all the problems it would solve. You could stay. In Pemberley, not in Hartfield, but you would not have to leave this country you love so dearly—you would still reside in Highbury, you would not lose your friends. Miss Taylor—Mrs. Weston—would still be the reward of your afternoon promenade. You would still dine with the Coles," Darcy added with some amusement. "Your tenants would not lose the advantages of your patronage. Of course, you would have to bear the presence of a husband, but I swear, I am not that horrible—you should ask Georgiana."
Elizabeth was slowly regaining her countenance.
"I… Interesting proposition," she said at last. "But… If I see all the advantages there are for me in this arrangement, what would you gain in the process, sir?"
"I swore to your father that I would look after you, remember? This is a way to do it."
"Perhaps not the one he had in mind."
"Perhaps not. But—to be frank?"
"I believe we are way past any pretense now, Mr. Darcy."
"I should marry soon. This way, I would not have to scout London balls for a year to find a suitable wife. We know each other very well; we are well aware of each other's strong points and deficiencies—there are no surprises here. Imagine if I came back with a bride, and she—and it turned out she hated the country, neglected her duties, spent more of her time wishing she was in society than dealing with the responsibilities that come with being the mistress of a great estate… Not to be dramatic here, but the wrong choice, the wrong decision could destroy all my hopes for the future."
Elizabeth nodded seriously—they had all seen it happen. "While you, Mr. Darcy, believe… You think I have already been tested and found not wanting while acting at my father's behest all these years in Hartfield." Elizabeth smiled in earnest. "You feel I have proved myself as a suitable material for a gentleman farmer's wife."
"To be blunt—I do. Think about it. We are already close friends; at least, I believe, I hope we are. My reasons make sense, I am sure you admit." Darcy paused. "Why not?"
Why not indeed? Elizabeth rose, she paced the pleasant, luminous room—Darcy could not tear his eyes off her. The way she walked. The way her hair was styled, in a more serious manner than usual, it put the line of her neck in sharp contrast with—no.
He had to stop. This was not why— He did not come here because— He had to focus.
"I will not lie, Mr. Darcy, this is a tempting offer. I can… I almost see it."
He could too. Elizabeth smiling and greeting guests in the summer drawing room. Playing duets with Georgiana—he had thought of it while listening to Caroline's voice, the day before. Elizabeth at dusk, the both of them in Pemberley's library, having tea, quietly talking of the estate's affairs. At night, she would open the door leading to his apartments, and—
"You could do so much better than the second daughter of a wealthy local squire," Elizabeth protested. "A more profitable union could be arranged, or at least, you could connect yourself better. There is a Marquess' daughter somewhere in town, with golden hair and fifty thousand pounds, waiting for you to take notice."
"I am sure there is. I am making a trade here. Renouncing certain advantages but mitigating the risk."
Elizabeth let out a strangled laugh. She resumed her pacing, then shook her head.
"No. I mean—I apologize… Thank you so much, Fitzwilliam, but… This is an unexpected honor, and such a generous, affectionate offer. I shall always be grateful; I shall always remember how you reached out to me in my time of need. And father— He would have been so proud of you. But I… I cannot accept your proposal."
Darcy was extremely disappointed. It was—an odd, unexpected blow. It hurt, for some irrational reason. All night, he had thought of it, and in his mind, a future had been created. A version of him, as a married man, with a sweet, impertinent, and kind young lady at his side, a ray of sun to warm any cloudy day.
But this vision was not to be. It did not matter, of course. It was only a logical scheme, and a friendly one, as Elizabeth rightly said. Just an interesting possibility. There would be many others.
Elizabeth sat down. She laughed again; it was nervous, and her hands were trembling. "I feel I just made a decision that I may regret all my life. In ten years, you will be married to the most elegant lady there is, and I will be an old maid, entertaining your children with stories of the mythological tales father told me."
"Lucky children," Darcy said, forcing a smile. A gentleman took rejection well. A gentleman did not show weakness or regret. "You will be as charming at thirty-two as you are now."
"How gallant. This is Jane and Charles' fault, you know. If not for them, for the beauty of their union, I would have gladly accepted your offer. But… When I see them together..." There were tears in Elizabeth's eyes again. "I am a silly, stupid girl, and I want a marriage of affection, not a union of reason. Do you remember their wedding day? I want my husband to look at me with the same passion in his eyes as when Bingley saw Jane this morning. I want to look at my husband and think, this is the man I love, with all my heart. You are finding me ridiculous."
"No." Something hurt in Darcy's chest. "No."
"But you cannot reason like this, of course. You have Pemberley to think of, and all the familial responsibilities that come with it. While I— I have no one but myself to please. It is very selfish, really."
A silence fell, only broken by the voices of the servants outside, the barks of the dogs, someone calling, faraway.
"You know what this conversation needs?" Elizabeth whispered. "A second cup of coffee."
"At the very least. I would take some of your father's brandy if it was not so early."
She poured them a new cup—as she would have done every morning if—Darcy pushed these thoughts away.
"I should have accepted your proposal, near the river, the first time," Elizabeth said with a short laugh. "We did not have such complex moral quandaries then. And now it would all be settled."
Darcy raised his cup of coffee, as one would a glass of wine. "You should have."
"Can you imagine? We would have walked back to your parents' house…"
"I would have announced our engagement in the middle of a room, standing very tall, feeling proud and important. Of course, we would have gone to your father before."
"I can just picture the look on his face. Your parents would have talked him out of the match though."
"Not necessarily. Thinking of it now, mother would have been displeased. At the time, I did not quite realize the familial pressure she was subjected to. But father—I was not wrong there, I feel. Father would have approved." Darcy smiled. "Then, of course, my aunt…"
"Oh my."
Just picturing Lady Catherine Debourgh's displeasure was almost enough to marry Darcy right here on the spot.
Almost.
-PP-
Darcy had other errands to run in the morning. He went to see Elton; he talked to Robert Martin, but of course, he was back at Hartfield in the afternoon, in Georgiana and Caroline's company, to see Elizabeth off.
Talking to Bingley was always a pleasure. The man was a whirlwind of goodness and sincerity, and Darcy especially appreciated it after two endless weeks spent in Miss Bingley's presence.
Elizabeth would be in very good hands in Jane and Bingley's home. There was no one better. Darcy was not betraying his promise to Mr. Bennet in letting her go—not that he had any right to stop her, but he certainly would have tried if he thought her situation could become unpleasant or unsafe.
There were some touching adieux, and some less sincere ones—Caroline pretended to shed a tear. But then Bingley helped his sister-in-law into the carriage, Elizabeth threw a last glance at everything she left behind, the door closed, and she was gone.
-PP-
And Darcy felt...empty.
