A/N: Hay gang, another turning point in the story, although not the last one.
I've had quite a few question/comments about Elizabeth's change of heart. I'll probably clarify in an edit, but basically, she got to the point where she did not want to feel responsible for sticking someone else with the fate she so hated. It's one thing to advocate for 'someone else' to do something or suggest it – but quite another to be responsible. Maybe logical, or maybe not - not everyone is logical in these situations, and jilting Darcy at the alter might be much worse than just running away. I don't think any of us really know. At any rate, she finally decided to accept her fate, within limits.
I have an interesting sidenote on dates. Fannon usually has P&P set in 1811-12 around its publication date. JA was mum on the subject, but that date is almost certainly wrong. She wrote First Impressions, which was later renamed after the success of Sense and Sensibility just before publication, probably based on the phrase being used in Fanny Burney's Cecilia (1782), although the same phrase was used by at least 4 other contemporary writers. She wrote the first version between 1796-97, in the early days of the Napoleonic Wars, rather than near the end as it would be in 1812 (Waterloo was 1815). The militia parts of the storyline set it somewhere between 1793-95 as that is apparently when Wickham's presence in Meryton and subsequent trip to Brighton would make sense historically. It's not that important, except some of the mores and customs of the time fit better in the earlier (correct) period than they did 15 years later when she did a major rewrite and sold it in 1812 (the original was apparently all leters). The Wikipedia entry for P&P explains it well.
At any rate, more by accident than by design, this story is set in a period of near maximum estrangement between Britain and France, and when Napoleon was preparing to commit military suicide on Russia. In 1811, they were under the Berlin Decree, which put a blockade on everything, even mail, between Europe and Britain. Any British subjects caught in Europe became prisoners of war. Darcy's journey to Paris would be entirely under French control, and not the smartest move he ever made. The blockade hurt Napoleon more than Britain and was probably more responsible for his downfall than the British military, which was about 1/4 the size of France's.
Wade
"Bingley, are you certain you want to participate in this debacle?"
The two gentlemen were sitting at an early breakfast with Anne on Darcy's wedding day. The question had been asked and answered before, but Darcy wanted to offer his friend one last chance to avoid it. He could always find another witness.
"Yes, my friend – I am certain. The Bennets may or may not have read about my wedding announcement, and they most likely think I was just toying with Miss Bennet's affections, but we cannot be certain. This is the easiest way to demonstrate the lay of the land, so to speak. I am also still responsible for Netherfield for the duration of the lease, so it will not be my last trip to Hertfordshire. There is still good sport to be had, and I still need to see to the tenants and so forth."
"I am happy to see you taking the responsibility seriously. I have put out the word with my uncle's associates and friends about Netherfield. It is conveniently close to town for any gentleman who does not also own one in Kent, so I will not be surprised if another lessor comes along. It was empty for a couple of years, but I think that is just because the owner has poor connections."
"If someone shows up who is suitable, that would be best. Until then, I am not going to hide from the neighborhood, nor be ashamed of what has transpired. I am not the one who acted improperly. Anne and I will stay a week or two after your departure and try to do what we can to restore our local reputations, and that of the Bennets, although I suspect both might be lost causes."
Darcy chuckled grimly. "As the unofficial King of Lost Causes, I can appreciate the effort."
"You really think this marriage a lost cause?"
"I do not know. I imagine time will tell, but the signs are not auspicious. I did nothing wrong, so it will be up to Miss Elizabeth to earn my approbation, not the other way around."
Bingley sighed. "Do not be too pessimistic, my friend. There may be more to her than you give her credit for. In fact, three weeks ago, I would have given good odds that you and Miss Elizabeth would get along well if you ever unbent just a little. I could never quite work out her interactions with you, though. I know you eventually came to believe she was flirting, but I never got that impression. Of course, I am not the most astute observer in the world, so you probably do not want to read too much into it."
Darcy chuckled. "To be honest, I think Miss Elizabeth could have lit your sister's dress on fire and you would hardly have noticed."
His friend chuckled. "There is that, and you must admit that should that event come to pass, Caroline would well deserve it."
Anne chuckled, but asked just a trifle nervously. "Are you certain you are over Miss Bennet? Will it pain you to see her?"
Bingley took her hand and replied, "Yes, I am well over her. You can ask Darcy. I have survived such disappointments before, and I am extremely happy to never have to do so in the future. I made the right choice."
Anne smiled, but she did look nervous, as she said, "Darcy, I for one want to be at this wedding. I will feel better about the ghost of Miss Bennet once I have seen her."
Darcy pensively said, "Before the ball, I would have considered both of the two eldest Miss Bennets rather elegant and well mannered – aside from the appalling lack of sense the eldest showed in riding to Netherfield in the rain. I always wondered if that was a deliberate strategy, and if so, whether it was the mother's, or a family affair."
Bingley said, "Mr. Bennet was on the indolent side, but it seems unlikely his daughter would ride out to such an 'important' dinner without his knowledge or consent. I would wager it was Mrs. Bennet's doing, and Mr. Bennet went along. Whether the daughters were in on the scheme or not, I could not speculate."
Darcy grumbled. "There is a saying the teachers use with children in America, 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again'. It would seem that Mrs. Bennet applied that strategy to good effect."
"Yes, it would seem so," then he chuckled and asked, "would it be unseemly for me to celebrate that it is you entering the arena rather than myself."
Darcy chuckled, but without very much humor. "I suppose not. Shall we?"
Anne stood up. "Quite."
"Lizzy, I know I am in your brown books, but is there anything I can do to make today better, or even less bad?"
Elizabeth stared at her sister for a minute, feeling like her life was on a precipice. She had spent the bulk of the last fortnight doing what could best be described as either deep reflection or sulking. Her Aunt Gardiner had, true to form, selected a lovely trousseau, and delivered it complete with a new trunk. She looked at some of the gifts, including some rather scandalous nightclothes that she thought she might as well burn or give to the kitchen for rags since she would never wear them, as a last hurrah from her life as a Bennet. Her future husband was well known to be high on the instep, and she was not certain if or when she would be able to see her aunt and uncle again. She was not at all concerned with the inconsistency of thinking her betrothed would disdain her connections in trade, when his good friend Bingley was the son of a tradesman.
She had spent some time choosing which dresses and things to take with her and which to leave for her sisters. Nobody had heard from her betrothed since the altercation in the hallway three weeks earlier, but she assumed he would either show up or he would not – probably based on whether he had learned of her attempted flights or not.
In the end, she decided to err on the side of generosity. She imagined Mr. Darcy would want his wife dressed better than the daughter of an insignificant country squire, so most of her clothing would not see very much use in future if she did take them. If he expected her to dress better, he would be expected to pay for it, would he not? In the end, she only took a few favorite walking dresses, enough to get her by for a month or two and left the bulk of her clothing for her sisters.
Her father insisted she at least take breakfast and supper with the family each day, and on this, her wedding day, they started earlier than usual so she would have time to prepare for the upcoming ordeal.
While the young lady was still quite angry with Jane, she found she did not have it in her heart to hold onto the feeling with such vigor. She imagined she would likely have enough vexation to suit anybody with her new husband if he turned out to be disagreeable, and she saw little point in relitigating the past. She would never again be what she was with her sisters, or perhaps, she might never again be anything but an indifferent correspondent. It seemed unlikely she would ever return to Hertfordshire. Her neighbors that she had known all her life had not been the worst gossips they could possibly be, but they had not been very supportive either. In the end, she could not, at that moment, feel like she needed to see anybody from her family or her home for a very long while, if ever.
With a nod, she said, "You can fix my hair if you like."
It was not a full rapprochement, nor was there likely to be one anytime soon, but it was more than Jane had expected given the level of their disagreement, and she was happy to take what she could get. In an emotional sense, she missed the connection she had once had with her sister but doubted it would ever be repaired. In a practical sense, she thought she might be depending on her sister's connections sooner than later, but she also felt somewhat guilty about her role in Elizabeth's current state. She still felt that Elizabeth was being stubborn and not especially bright, but she did not hold the animosity she would if her sister remained recalcitrant enough to sabotage the eldest's own prospects.
After breakfast, they retired to the guest room. Lydia asked if she could join them, and Elizabeth agreed to the scheme. There was little chance that her youngest sister would not revert to form during the day, but it would not be on Elizabeth's head if it happened.
Elizabeth had taken a bath the previous day and did not feel any need for another one. It was a small and petty sort of victory, but not the worst.
Jane said, "Lizzy, your dress is – interesting."
"La, it may be the most boring dress ever made" Lydia added with a giggle, which Kitty echoed.
Elizabeth endured their teasing with ease. "I think it marks the occasion perfectly, and I doubt Mr. Darcy will care one whit what I wear, if he even notices."
Her 'improvements' to the dress had mostly amounted to remaking it as plain as she could without going overboard into vulgarity or looking like a pauper. Elizabeth had approached the Netherfield Ball with high hopes that she might dance with Mr. Wickham and a few other gentlemen, so she had made the dress her best estimate of festive, happy, and ornamental.
On the other hand, her attitude towards her nuptials could best be described as 'cautiously optimistic it might not be a total disaster', so the dress reflected that sentiment. Most of the modifications had consisted of removing expensive lace, and replacing it with either simple ribbons, or nothing at all. The dress was white, an unusual choice for a bride, but otherwise unremarkable. She did not look poor, but she did not look rich or even very well off either.
As Jane set about doing her hair, which was a particular skill for the eldest, Elizabeth wondered about why she thought that plainness was the right signal for the day. Perhaps, she wanted to enter her marriage without overt pretensions. She had to, somehow, convince her husband that she had nothing to do with the compromise, and that she was not flirting with him for six weeks. She thought that if they did not at least start out from a position of honesty and apology, beginning right that very day, they would be doomed to be at each other's throats throughout all eternity.
Mary and Kitty joined them, and in another life, it might well have been a merry party. In this life, it was somber but at least moderately cordial.
Mrs. Bennet tried to enter the room a half‑hour later to be certain that all was 'as it should be', but Elizabeth would not even allow her into the room, so she went away in a huff, grumbling about ungrateful daughters with insufficient trousseaus, while yelling for poor beleaguered Hill to bring her some salts.
As the trio were putting on their outerwear for the trip to the church, the Netherfield butler handed Darcy a note. "This just arrived by express, sir."
Darcy had been fretting for the previous hour about the upcoming ordeal as his valet made him presentable. While he was tempted to make some effort to not look his best for his wedding, but frankly had no idea how to accomplish that goal. Instead, he asked his valet to pick something at random, and prepare him as usual for an ordinary day of calling.
The headache that had been his constant companion most of the morning was threatening to get worse before it got better, and he also thought that the prospect of marriage was turning him into a sniveler, since he had progressed to even feeling more than a little feverish.
Taking the note in hand, he reflexively replied, "Thank you, Dawson. Let us feed him and I will see if I have a return."
"Very good, sir."
Darcy looked at the note with a sinking feeling and tore the seal open.
–––––––––––––
23 December, 1811
Matlock House, London
Darcy,
Malcolm has taken a turn for the worse and is not expected to live more than another two or three months. I have isolated him and will try to keep his eventual passing quiet as long as possible in the hope that you can get Richard out before the French know he is the heir apparent. I do not know that it would change the negotiations, but it seems likely that it would make him more valuable.
I suggest you try to settle things with your bride before you go. I will visit her sometime a couple months after you leave to ensure, she is well settled.
Matlock
–––––––––––––
With a sigh, he asked his valet to put the note among his things and send the express rider back with acknowledgement, but in no particular hurry. His headache pounding, he donned hat and gloves, then walked out to join his cousins in the carriage.
In a bout of delayed and somewhat underwhelming generosity, Bennet hired a carriage to take his wife and other daughters separately from the bride. He liked to believe it was his liberality of spirit protecting his first daughter to be married without having to listen to endless commentary on her appearance and what she should do with her new husband. He discounted the idea that it was related to Elizabeth's threat to walk to the church alone if she had to share a conveyance with her mother. He could have sent his carriage ahead and had it return for the bride but judged that minimizing the time his family was exposed to his soon to be son in law would probably be for the best. They were to follow a mere ten minutes after the departure of the rest of the family. The groom had refused the offer of a wedding breakfast, planning to leave straight from the door of the church.
Bennet had received a note from Netherfield the previous afternoon verifying that the groom was indeed in attendance, and his wife's gossip verified that he was there with the long‑lamented Mr. Bingley, who, if rumors were to be believed, had already secured another bride. The long run of lamentations that accompanied that news had gone on well into the night, and half the morning, but Elizabeth did not participate in the discussions at all, primarily because she stayed in her room and prohibited entry from anyone.
When Elizabeth walked down the stairs, he said, "Miss Bennet, that dress makes a bold statement, although I confess, I do not understand what said bold statement actually is."
Elizabeth stared at him, wondering if he was trying to have an intelligent conversation, or tease her. After the past few weeks of animosity, she really believed she could not tell any more, nor did she very much care.
She at last said, "The statement is 'I am what I am'. I am not presenting myself as any better or worse than an ordinary daughter of an ordinary squire. I will not dress myself up enough to pretend to be more than I am, nor will I wear sackcloth to imply that I am less."
Bennet, for once in his life thought about it a minute, and finally said, "That is probably wise. You will have to find a way to get along with your husband and putting on pretensions and airs seems like it will do no good. He probably knows you about as well as I knew your mother before our wedding. I would hope, for your sake, that the two of you can come to a better understanding than we did."
"I am skeptical, but I will do my best. As I said, he needs to help a little, but a very little will do."
Bennet just nodded and gestured to the door so they could get on with it.
