**over 2,000 reads in less than 24 hours! Thank you everyone and I love the reviews! This chapter could have been titled "the Bennets actually do suck" but I wanted to capture some of the changes hinted in the end of the original after Lydia's elopement... I could imagine Mr. Bennet struggling with his culpability, can't you? ***
The following morning delivered the worst weather for the plans of the two eldest Bennet daughters. Showers alternated between a fine mist, one scarcely inconveniencing anyone, and steady pours that made the roads hazardous to travel. Despite the gloomy dispositions of Jane and Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet joined her daughters to break her fast in nothing less than the jolliest of spirits for she had not one, but two daughters, engaged to very wealthy men from London.
"I shall pinch myself once more as last evening feels like it was but a dream! That you managed to secure Mr. Darcy!" Mrs. Bennet spoke mostly to herself as her two eldest sulked over their soft-boiled eggs. Suddenly, Mrs. Bennet gasped. "Oh! The romance must have been a clandestine one and that must be why you refused your cousin last year!"
Elizabeth shook her head as she poked a bit of eggshell with her small spoon. "No, Mama, I was not in a secret romance with Mr. Darcy last autumn. When I refused Mr. Collins' offer, I held no assurances or hope of another from Mr. Darcy."
Jane glanced up from her meal. She also felt no stomach for food as she worried about Mr. Bingley's health. Her sister's words provoked a memory. "But you did turn down Mr. Darcy's proposal in Kent, so he must have had some feelings for you even last year."
"Turned down his proposal in Kent? What's this? You are engaged! How is that so if you turned him down?" Mrs. Bennet asked and Jane suddenly winced in a silent apology to her sister. Elizabeth fumed. Not even Kitty or Mary dared to break the silence and their father continued to study the newspaper.
"Answer her, Lizzy. Your mother loves a good intrigue," he stated.
"Yes, tell us. How did you fall in love with Mr. Darcy?" Kitty asked with a giggle.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, mortified that she was to be the entertainment for her entire family. In fact and deed there was little inappropriate in her dealings with Mr. Darcy, but to explain it all from start to finish would lead to criticism of her behavior. And his. For this reason alone she justified feeling loyalty to him over the curiosities of her sisters and parents. If she were a few years younger, she might throw a fit and storm upstairs, begging to be left alone. But such antics would not stop the inevitable inquisition, merely the location.
"At the assembly last year, I overheard a very unfortunate slight against me when Mr. Bingley implored Mr. Darcy to dance—"
"We know all about that, you told us!" Kitty said sourly, immediately unhappy with Elizabeth's offered explanation.
"Yes, and had I felt less, perhaps I would have felt less injury," Elizabeth snapped back to her interrupting sister, and Kitty's mouth made a small, rounded shape signaling comprehension.
"He was a very unsociable, proud man last year, but he did dance with you at the ball," Mrs. Bennet commented, remembering her dislike for the man solely for his disinterest in Jane, then recalling that early on that he had shown preference to Elizabeth.
"Again, all of you were there, but even that evening did not signify to me of any special regard. At the assembly, he refused to dance with me. At Lucas Lodge, I refused to dance with him. The ball merely evened the score, or so I thought," Elizabeth said, refusing to meet anyone's eye as she considered how utterly childish their courtship had begun. Her Aunt Gardiner had been correct to see what Elizabeth could not see all along, that Mr. Darcy was a man whose good opinion she sought from the moment she laid eyes upon him.
"When Jane was ill, you must have spent time alone with him," Mary ventured.
Quickly, Elizabeth shook her head, but then slowly stopped and nodded. "Without words passing between us, in the library reading."
"Let that put a rest to it! Mr. Darcy has found himself a wife that can sit quietly and read," Mr. Bennet said, making Elizabeth blush for the insult to her mother and insinuation that Mr. Darcy would desire her to remain silent.
"Not so swiftly, Mr. Bennet. Lizzy has other questions to answer." Mrs. Bennet ignored her husband's cruelty and suddenly took a great interest in the particulars of just how her second eldest daughter came to secure one of the richest men of their acquaintance. "Lady Catherine de Bourgh made a point of visiting my parlor to see Lizzy. Surely something must have occurred in Kent."
Circling back to the failed proposal had pushed the conversation too far for Elizabeth. "Please, can you all just be content for my happiness? Mr. Darcy is a good man, who saved this family after Lydia . . . after Lydia . . ." Elizabeth trailed off as she dared to challenge her father with a sidelong glance, and his face showed a fit of anger the Bennet family rarely saw.
"What of my Lydia? Oh so clever to marry first," Mrs. Bennet romanticized.
"She would not have married at all if it was not for Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth stated firmly, not allowing her father to break their connection.
Mr. Bennet rattled his newspaper in frustration, folding the half sheet and rolling it up in his hands. "I wondered when you might have sought your glory. Will you not also tell the table how you warned me that Lydia should not go to Brighton? Tell me, did you possess intelligence or experience from the libertine fashion in which I have allowed you and your sister to travel?"
"No, Papa. I warned you of the general evils such behavior creates," Elizabeth lied once again as Jane struggled to keep her expression indifferent.
"And what of you," Mr. Bennet turned to Jane, noticing the silent communication passing between his two eldest daughters. "You seem to have some thoughts on the matter, Jane."
Jane took a deep breath. "Mr. Darcy did tell Lizzy that Mr. Wickham was not to be trusted. A lady of his acquaintance was once in a similar predicament as Miss Mary King."
"Jane!"
"No, now the truth comes out!" Mr. Bennet said, feeling relief from the guilt he had carried over his youngest's patched-up nuptials. "Here I was thinking Mr. Darcy a paragon of virtue, a man I should never think to deny any request," Mr. Bennet echoed the words he had spoken to his favorite daughter just the night before in his study.
"Mr. Darcy knew Mr. Wickham would target my Lydia?" Mrs. Bennet asked, her voice trembling and Elizabeth closed her eyes at the utter ridiculousness of her family. Any other time Lydia was so clever in her aims, and now her mother finally saw Mr. Wickham as the villain.
"No, he could not. No one could have, could they, Kitty?" Lizzy called to her younger sister who had begun to cry at the table.
"I'm sorry, terribly sorry. I knew! Lydia told me she planned to run off with Mr. Wickham!" Kitty began to wail, and Jane wrapped her arm around her shoulder.
"Enough!" Mr. Bennet rose from the table and threw his napkin upon the plate. "Lydia is married. Jane and Elizabeth shall be married. After all, this is a father's duty: hand over his daughters to any gentleman that knocks and inquires." Mr. Bennet wrung his hands as he spoke, then clasped them behind his back as he left the dining room. The door to his study slammed with more force than usual making Elizabeth flinch.
The dining room table remained silent until Elizabeth rose quietly without asking for dismissal from her mother. Her thoughts and feelings tormented each step as she desperately missed Mr. Darcy's presence. She broke the pain marveling at the sudden obsession she couldn't shake over him, and then combatted a rush of melancholy over her father's feelings regarding her intended.
Her mother and sisters' voices resumed in the dining room below and she paused when she reached the solitude of her shared room with Jane. She wished to throw herself onto the bed and weep, over what misfortune she could not even name. Her better senses pushed aside this upheaval for a solution: the pen.
Pulling out a piece of parchment and her quill, she sat underneath the gray, dreary light of the window with the rainy day matching her disposition perfectly.
October 8, 1812
Our parting last evening came about so abruptly, I admit I cursed the rain this morning that has made a visit impossible. I should ask Jane if being engaged dominates her thoughts with Mr. Bingley. Since I have been so fortunate as to find an understanding with you, I find myself thoroughly preoccupied with thoughts of becoming your wife. All other demands such as conversation and routine actions require more focus than ever before! I fear my mind may become addled in some manner by the depth of my affections. My neighbors shall speak of the second Bennet daughter being a lady of good sense only in reference to the past. Their conclusions shall no doubt be bolstered by my family as they have not accepted my marriage plans so easily as they did with Jane and Lydia. I hesitate to bring up Lydia's lest it causes you pain.
All morning I fielded inquiries as to how we have conducted our clandestine relationship, even parrying accusations we shared an intimacy last year at Netherfield Park while Jane was ill! Kitty could not believe you and I sat for an hour in quiet solitude reading in the library. My father put pain to it, jesting at my expense. A failing of mine was witnessing him take his pleasure at others' expense to be a sign of great wit and good humor. Receiving such equal treatment by his silvery tongue has acquainted me with the cruelty of it.
Though I've yet to receive a missive from you, allow me to anticipate your query. My interview with my father last evening did not go as smoothly as perhaps yours. This is why I was gone to his library for over a quarter-hour and then needed another half of one to compose myself above stairs. But none of my distress was over you, dear sir. Where my father declared he should not deny a man of your stature anything you might request, he cautioned me to think carefully. He fears I shall lose respect for you, fail to submit to your authority, and even hinted I might be determined to have you for your wealth. I did not relate our mutual embarrassment in Kent, though perhaps you revealed the circumstances yourself.
My confidence was indeed misplaced, however, in my sister Jane, who relayed this morning that I spurned your first offer of marriage to all gathered at our table. The intelligence rattled my father's attitude, so upon further consideration, you likely concealed more than I managed. If I did not know Jane possessed the purest soul and heart, I might question her motive. But I believe she spoke out of genuine concern, which gives me little relief. Oh, why was I so vocal about my opinions last autumn?
Surely no utterance of thought is worth such anxieties of the heart! But do not feel pained for my penance, sir, it is for you I feel the most regret. I worry a moment that should have remained private between us shall become fodder for all the gossips in Meryton, chief among their ranks being my mother and her sister Phillips. Please forgive my misplaced trust. I shall keep what remains between us private even to my most beloved sister.
If terrible tales trickle off tongues, perhaps a wedding with Jane and your friend, Mr. Bingley, will seed disinterest in speculation about Kent. After this morning's attention was placed solely on me and my plans for a happy life with you, I find I am not in the least interested in a grand affair alone. My mother will no doubt seek to have us wed separately, so she may make the most of the occasion to entertain and boast amongst the neighborhood. I find that I am unhappy we shall have to wait at least three weeks for the banns to be read and perhaps longer since we need to have them read in Derbyshire and London if you hold membership in more than one church. My head is heavy with all of the details one must reconcile in this business of matrimony. I pray that you also see fit to send a missive to me today but shan't expect writing on these matters until the next letter I receive.
I shall end with the sentiment that you are so generous to suffer a family such as mine and circumstances outside your normal society. I shudder to think what my mother said and did in the three-quarter hour you sat in the parlor with her. But you hold my heart, sir, so I beg that you be gentle. I find separation from you to bring pain of the acutest kind. If these pangs are similar in any way to the tugging of your heartstrings this last twelve-month, please share the method and manner in which you survived.
Your Beloved,
Elizabeth
By evening, a response arrived at Longbourn. The poor servant boy, named Ralph, dispatched back and forth in haste, was so thoroughly soaked that Mrs. Bennet took pity on the lad. She ordered Hill to send him to bed with broth and relieved him of duties for the following morning. The boy's sneezing and coughing rattled the matriarch's nerves and she lamented loudly how dangerous illness would be for dear Jane, set to be married soon to Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth ignored her mother's exclusion to escape with a letter from Mr. Darcy, and her father did not even demand to read it before it was given to her. This proved to be a godsend, as Mr. Darcy's criticisms were not lightly penned:
My Dearest,
The rain has separated us bringing no joy to this household. Even if Mr. Bingley had a decent mount, we would not dare to ride in this deluge. I'm afraid between Miss Bingley's incessant and unwelcome attention, and Mr. Bingley's melancholy, justified I believe, I have isolated myself to the generous apartments offered to me here. I hate to pen the words, but I cannot even rely on Bingley's good sense if he was not so forlorn. Every other sentence sets him off in a fury!
The rooms I've been afforded are very well situated and I've given more thought to your request that we stay in Hertfordshire after the wedding. I have not yet asked to trespass on Charles' hospitality, but do intend to broach the subject when he is of sounder mind. I suspect I shall need to move my things as I believe these accommodations might be best for the future Mrs. Charles Bingley. The room does not boast an adjoining door as our suites in all of our future homes, a consequence of my parents' great affections that they shared, and a similar future I hope for our union. Though, should your family be acquainted with the previous generation to own Netherfield Park, before leasing the same, please do not believe I pass judgment on their union. Few homes offer architectural features to endear husband and wife. Why, some homes I've visited, especially those in my extended family's domain, keep the master and mistress in separate wings!
I pray I should never anger or disappoint you so that we should live apart.
It appears you are more industrious than I, for your letter has just arrived. The messenger was a tad careless as the ink has run in the corner, but the main sentiments of the letter I can digest. It is difficult for me to read the account you have sent and not feel incensed on your behalf. Would that I could be by your side, alleviate the pain of your family's intrusion. You are acquainted with my aunt, I assure you that my sympathy for your plight is in earnest. To answer your inquiry, I did not impart details of our interactions in Kent, though I feel even greater pain that my words about your family may trouble you further. To be honest, a virtue I plan to build our future upon, I was left disappointed in your father's interview. A simple assurance of my affections for you placated him too swiftly in my mind, it bears clearer that the chief of his concern was my wealth and status, to not as you say, deny me any request.
Aside from my pique at his careless interest in your regard, I can only say that the whole of my experience in your company has shown I've fought hard to earn your esteem and respect. It, therefore, follows any respect so challenging to earn cannot be the whim of a besotted heart. I believe that I came to respect you even before I came to love you, and pray you followed a similar path. He is not mistaken that our wealth and position in society shall make us impervious to those petty arguments another husband and wife might suffer. But I am sure we shall argue, most passionately, about the mundane, for you and I are of the same mind to question all around us before we make our judgment. And from those passionate debates, I predict lost afternoons and evenings to each other's company, oh that we should be so fortunate!
If my penance for such an offending proposal of marriage is that I must now suffer it being known, then so be it. I've feared gossip of the worst kind before in my life and cannot say the Lord spared me consequences of my cowardice. Nor your family. Please do not fear to mention your sister, Lydia, though you will forgive me if I cannot quite reconcile myself to writing her married name. I may wish for no connection to that man who trespassed so heavily upon my father's generosity but could never ask you to release a bond to your flesh and blood. Days will come where we will cleave to each other against any number of demands from your family or mine, but the regard we hold for the most irksome of our relations shall always endure. And now, I suspect your next letter will entreat me, again, to consider reconciliation with my aunt, but I beg you stay such a request until more suns have risen than the twenty thus far.
Regarding the last of your letter, I must wait to answer when I might deliver such information in person. I believe you will forgive me for the delay, but know the emotional discomfort and disruption to rational thought you have described has been my constant companion for over half a year, possibly longer. I cannot prescribe a remedy for the ache, apart from spending a life together at Pemberley.
Do you recall the home from your visit with your aunt and uncle well? I understand it is customary for a young bride to have changes made, and I'm afraid the Mistress' chambers at both the London townhome and Pemberley have not seen a refreshing since my mother became a Darcy over thirty years ago. Would you like for us to begin the remodels now or wait until after our nuptials for changes that better suit your tastes?
And merely writing about your future accommodations I'm afraid has afflicted me once again with our shared condition that promises a joyful union. The desires of my heart could not cry out more for your jolly company that salves my loneliness. I curse this beastly weather that keeps us apart and from your favorite pastime of countryside rambles.
I can only promise, my Elizabeth, to give you hill upon hill of countryside expressly situated for your exploration. I only hope that you shall invite me along on your adventures so I don't miss one moment of your laughter. Pray, send back your response at your earliest convenience, at least we do not reside further apart than treble the distance of Rosings and the cottage.
Your Most Devoted,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
When Elizabeth closed her letter, she sighed and leaned back on the bed she shared with Jane.
"Does Mr. Darcy write about Mr. Bingley?" Jane asked as she had sneaked up the stairs while Elizabeth had savored the lengthy letter from her suitor.
"You had a letter from Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth countered, not wishing to disclose any details of what Mr. Darcy wrote, simply on the principle of their new, shared privacy.
Jane shook her head. "His sister wrote, effusing how happy she is we are to marry and lamenting the dreary afternoon she spent with the gentlemen."
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Mr. Darcy had written that he had spent most of the day alone, in his rooms. Pangs of jealousy clenched in her heart as she took a deep breath and remembered that Caroline Bingley would know Jane would share her letter. Still, Elizabeth needed to parry the direct question.
"Did you write to Mr. Bingley?"
"Of course not!"
Elizabeth laughed. "I wrote to Mr. Darcy this morning. You should write to Mr. Bingley tonight and if the weather is clear, we can send our responses together."
"But I could never write to him!"
"Jane! Be sensible! You're engaged to him! Of course, you can write to him, no one scolded me for writing to Mr. Darcy!"
Jane bit her lower lip and considered her sister's proposal.
"Come, I will light the candle, and we can write our responses tonight."
She grabbed Jane's hand, but her sister balked as Lizzy tried to pull her toward the writing desk in their room.
"I simply cannot. I am not so bold as you," she argued.
Elizabeth shrugged.
"Well, I shall write to my future husband. Yours can sit wondering if you still have regard for him after his poor showing the other night," she said, off-handed.
Jane gasped. "Do you truly think that's why he didn't write?"
Elizabeth pulled out two pieces of parchment, one for herself and one for Jane, though she frowned at the close quarters for writing. Neither would have much privacy from the other. Still, she could always take a pot of ink and quill over to the bedside table, deferring to Jane the desk. Offering the means of communication that would never have been proper when they were mere acquaintances with the gentlemen, Elizabeth remembered the sage advice from her friend, Charlotte Collins.
"There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement," she repeated, reflecting on how much had transpired in a year.
Setting her expression into one of sheer determination against her placating nature, Jane accepted the seat as Elizabeth stood the moment her sister neared the desk.
"You'll be a brave Mrs. Bingley, indeed," Elizabeth teased her sister.
Jane turned as Elizabeth took her meager supplies to the bedside table, tucking Mr. Darcy's letter into the pocket of her robe. "What about you? Aren't you afraid of misstepping as Mrs. Darcy?"
"Terrified."
But with another deep breath and a slow smile, as her sister's quill began to write in earnest, Elizabeth feigned beginning her second letter to Mr. Darcy. In that one question, her elder sister had revealed so much, she was not the only Bennet girl nervous about their radical life changes just upon the horizon.