Chapter 23: Becoming her Confidant
I awoke earlier than I needed to meet with Georgiana for our morning walk. I used the time to write a brief missive to Bingley as I had promised Miss Elizabeth. I explained about our discussions, and why it was Miss Elizabeth who influenced her sister to think poorly of me and to view me as a potential mill stone around Bingley's neck. I concluded by writing:
I hope that you will consider a further association with Miss Bennet. Do not on any account refrain based upon the loyalty and love you bear for me as your close friend. Miss Elizabeth has willingly embraced her responsibility for what has transpired and now that we are endeavoring to understand each other better I have hope for a future with her. I do not see why you and Miss Bennet might not do the same.
I gave the letter to Jeffrey to post and then with a lighter heart left to meet Georgiana again.
Although Georgiana had no particular advice for me, we talked as we made our way to the meeting spot. Shortly before we arrived, she told me, "Oh Brother, I am so happy that you have been able to share with Miss Elizabeth and that you are now seeking to know her further. She was wrong but all shall be made right. I am confident in this."
Miss Elizabeth was waiting in a morning gown of palest pink, wearing a sturdy bonnet also trimmed with pink ribbon. The pink color complemented her pink lips which smiled at me. I delighted in seeing that this time after greeting us both that she sought immediately to talk to me.
Georgiana excused herself with a little laugh and declared, "Brother, if you mind it not, I would ask your permission to collect a few new leaves for pressings. I will make sure to stay in sight."
"But of course," I told her. However, I made a very poor guardian as I believe my eyes only sought her out once or twice, and not because of any concern for her but because I wished to share what I was feeling with her.
I told Miss Elizabeth, "Even this morning I posted a letter to Bingley as we discussed."
"I thank you, Mr. Darcy," she told me. "I could not have imagined before our interactions in Kent that rather than being the source of my sister's disappointment that you might become her savior. Please forgive me for my disparagement; it was very badly done on my part."
I merely inclined my head; I was unwilling for our conversation to linger there. After a slight pause I gathered my courage and asked, while trying my best to meet her eyes, "Do you have further questions of me?"
Miss Elizabeth nodded and asked: "Could you explain why you acted as you did at the assembly?"
"But of course," I replied, although in truth it was the last thing I desired to do. I knew I had acted very poorly toward her. It was not well done at all and I feared my explanation would only have me looking odd to her mind. Still, I would be honest. Disguise of any sort is abhorrent to me.
"As I believe I have explained earlier, I am always uncomfortable when someplace new. I had just arrived at Netherfield when Bingley and his sisters asked me to attend the assembly. I attended against my own inclination in an attempt to please my hosts. I should have declined. I will always be particularly uncomfortable interacting with those I do not know. Uncertainty makes me anxious and nothing can be more uncertain than how a stranger will react to me."
I considered how to explain it before proceeding. "An assembly is a particularly bad setting because the sights, sounds and smells are overwhelming and there is not a bit of peace anywhere. I sought to limit my interactions to those of my own party because it was safer. Because I could not dissuade Bingley, I ended acting rudely in an attempt to make him let me be. No one I did not know could have tempted me to dance. Thus while I apologize for my actions towards you at the assembly, I need you to understand why I acted as I did. It was not because I wanted to be rude but because I was fearful of interacting with strangers in a new place."
"I think I understand," Miss Elizabeth told me, inclining her head slightly, "but it wounded me to hear those words from you, without knowing why you acted as you did."
"I am very sorry," I had received her apology and now she needed mine. "If only I had met you prior in a more sedate setting, I am sure I would have wanted to dance with you. Did you not notice that on other occasions I asked you to dance, such as when Sir Lucas suggested it, and when you were staying Netherfield? However, each time you refused. Is there aught else you wish clarity on?"
Miss Elizabeth replied, "Yes, one last question has lingered on my mind. What do you expect of me?"
Here was the opening I dearly wanted, but I was uncertain as to whether I should take it. I felt that Miss Elizabeth's prior words showed a willingness for her to hear it, but I also feared driving her away from me. I took a few moments to study her countenance, to see if I could decipher any clues as to how to proceed. I noted that she was looking at me, and that she was now only standing an arm's width away from me. I could not help but tote these up as positive signs. I decided to proceed.
"Wishes and expectations are different things," I told her, feeling hope within me but trying to temper it; she had to understand all. Although I was anxious to know more about her I also had determined there was more she needed to know from me.
"I expect that now you have absolved me from the worst of George Wickham's accusations." Miss Elizabeth nodded. "You also know now that there was a partial truth in some things he said. I did not speak like other children, play like other children or act like other children. He was tasked with being my example and friend."
"Knowing now what I do of his character, it must have been difficult to have such an association enforced," she commented.
"Yes, it was. But my father was not wrong to think I needed other people to learn from, he was simply wrong in his choice of instrument, in trying to force an association with him rather than someone more worthy. I have learned better how to act as I ought, what is expected but I do not react as others do and I do not think I ever shall."
Miss Elizabeth took a half step closer to me, held out her gloved hand for a moment, as if to lay it on me in comfort before withdrawing it and placing it against her skirt. I took this as a positive sign and, so, found the strength to continue.
"I am terribly anxious; I have trouble looking in many people's eyes and my impulses are difficult to control. I do best when I know what to expect and a schedule is observed. It is difficult for me to adapt to change and I need substantial time away from others."
"You are a very private person," she observed, "one who requires a well-ordered life."
"Yes, very much so, but by necessity rather than choice. Interactions are often exhausting to me, I feel I expend much more effort in them than other people do."
"How so?" she asked gently.
"You see, I do not read others' emotions well and have trouble with understanding what various facial expressions mean. It requires a great deal of effort to determine what I can from it."
"Are there other things in such interactions that are also difficult for you?" she asked.
"Many. I am particularly ill-equipped to decipher sarcasm. I will misunderstand you when your words do not match your meaning. I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," I told her, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns as I often seen done. While I care about people, most of my concern is saved for those close to me, and this circle is quite small."
Miss Elizabeth's eyes were bright as she looked at me, but I could not tell if she understood that I was now including her in that circle. A single man ought not talk to a single unrelated woman about forming a close association with her. It is not appropriate.
"Although I improve in understanding what is meant by someone I know well, I do not believe much of it can be attributed to me learning all the little signals they give other people but because they alter how they interact with me. I have prayed to be worthy of you . . ." I paused when I heard her give a little gasp, saw her cheeks pink (it was most lovely), "but God has not seen fit to change my nature. I cannot substantially alter myself for the better but I have done what I can. I do not expect you to understand a being like me. I hope you will want to try."
She nodded and said nothing. I hoped it was a nod of agreement biding me to continue. I thought, perhaps, I was a fool indeed to tell her these things.
"Miss Elizabeth, I need you to know dealing with my oddities will be a substantial disadvantage to anyone who marries me." I held out a hand for silence when she would have spoken.
"I know I have hidden from you in plain sight, shown a mask of pride to all. I do not wish to hide from you anymore. I desire to understand you and for you to understand me. I wish to court and marry you but I ask for nothing now, will try to expect nothing until you give me leave to hope. You must have the time to learn the true measure of who I am before you decide whether you could be happy with me."
I took a couple of deep breaths then. My throat felt dry. I did not think that I had ever talked so much before, all at one time. When my eyes sought the ground, I forced them up to look at her. I awaited her reply.
Miss Elizabeth nodded. She parted her lips as if to speak, then closed them again; this occurred thrice. Although she did not keep me waiting overly long, perhaps thirty seconds ticked by, I felt out of sorts, disconcerted, vaguely sick inside my stomach.
Finally, she spoke. "I realize now, Mr. Darcy, that you are not the person that Mr. Wickham described or that I conceived of from almost the earliest of our interactions until quite recently." Miss Elizabeth gave me a half smile then, which I returned. And then there was more silence that I had to wait through.
When she began talking again, her voice was a bit softer. "I have no experience with someone like you and thus I attributed all of your actions to an unseemly pride. The man that stands before me has challenges indeed, but from all I can tell you are a kind man who does his best in difficult circumstances. I do not know you well enough to know if we could find happiness together, but I am willing to try to understand the man before me." When she finished, she looked down and kept her gaze focused on the ground.
I ached to reach out for Miss Elizabeth, to take up her hand, but it was far too early for that. Instead I let my words say what my body could not. I told her, "Thank you for your willingness to try, it is a kindness that few have extended to me. I know that I do not know your true self either," I responded, "but I believe I saw glimpses of it with your quick wit and care for your sister. Please tell me about yourself. I would know all you are willing to tell me."
I do not know what I expected to hear, perhaps some lively story about her childhood which might illustrate her character or a fond remembrance of growing up with Miss Bennet. But that was not what I ultimately received. But at first what she told me was much what I expected.
"My childhood I rather think was rather ordinary, quite like what other girl children around us received, save for the fact that my parents had more than others. I was a quick child and that made me pleasing to my father and I wanted to be pleasing to him. He took over my education when I was perhaps ten years of age (by then I was already a better reader than my mother and Jane). By educating me, I do not mean that Father had some plan or structure to what I should learn, but that he began to suggest books for me to read. Usually it was just whatever he thought not too difficult for a girl, and that he was interested in at the time."
I nodded, trying to imagine having such a relationship with my own father. I thought of what I should comment or what I should ask, but before I could think of what it should be, she began speaking again.
"Mother did her duty to me, but there was always a harsh edge to it. I did not know why, but when I learned the word 'affront' I knew that I an affront to my mother. I did not understand why that should be except that I was not as perfect as Jane."
I was poised to interrupt, to tell her that she was like a jewel and her sister a dull pebble, but fortunately she stilled my words with a look (as it would have hardly been prudent to speak about her sister in such a way).
"I know now that Jane and I are simply different from one another, neither better, the same in God's sight. I cannot remember a time when Jane was anything other than pretty, tidy and serene. As for me, I was a curious child who loved to be out of doors. I caught small creatures in jars and brought them to my father. He had natural history books and would teach me about my specimens. He also taught me how to kill them and mount them, but I did not like to see them still and I stopped bringing them to him."
"I also caught things like that, mostly butterflies," I commented before admitting, "but I had no compunction in keeping them."
Miss Elizabeth responded, "Perhaps I was too tenderhearted as a child." She gave a little sigh and her eyes grew bright, wet. "Perhaps I simply did not want to be the bringer of death, as I was convinced I had before."
I understood her words, but I did not understand her meaning, so I asked, "Whatever do you mean, that you were the bringer of death before?"
"I . . . I did not plan to tell you; I have told none but Charlotte and Jane. But you have trusted me, so I ought to do the same." Still she considered for a few moments before continuing. "Around the same time as I was learning about those small creatures, I overheard something that I was never meant to hear. My parents were arguing. Most of it was indistinct, but I thought I heard my name and was anxious to find out what it was about. I suspected that my mother might be displeased with me and wanting my father to punish me. I put my ear upon my mother's door to hear them better."
Miss Elizabeth swallowed, her eyes grew wetter and I saw a tension in her jaw. She held her gloved hands tightly together.
"You see, my mother was always finding fault with me for often the smallest of things. Mama especially did not like my forays into the woods, even though it was safe enough (it was only a small patch of wood with a stream running through it and was not large enough to house dangerous creatures) and I could not get lost. Papa was saying, 'Why are you being so harsh on Lizzy? It is not as if it is her fault.'
"My mother screeched, 'But she stole what should have been his; far better it would have been if he lived and she had died. She even believes herself a boy.'
"Papa said, 'Mrs. Bennet, be reasonable. It is not uncommon for one twin to not survive. It was just God's will; we are fortunate that both were not lost.'
"Mama would have none of it and her voice grew louder and more strident, saying, 'Do not tell me to be reasonable! You always take up for her over me. But I know the truth; she stole his life. She was born first when she should have waited for him. And she was larger than him, too. We needed a son; she stole that from us.' I know their argument went on, but as I was already crying over the terrible secret I had learned, I crept away. I told Jane everything and she comforted me. She told me that Papa was right, and Mama was wrong, but sometimes I still doubt."
I was affected by what she had told me, felt hurt for the girl-child who had heard this and for the woman before me who was anguished over it. Now it was I who extended a hand toward her, to soothe as I might Georgiana, before realizing it would be most improper and withdrawing it.
I told her, knowing that my words were unlikely to make much difference, "Miss Bennet and your father are most certainly right that you have done nothing wrong. Your mother was certainly most blessed to have so many living children; my mother certainly wanted more but was unsuccessful."
"I know my mother loves me," Miss Elizabeth continued, looking above me (perhaps at the puffy clouds above, the tops of the trees or nothing in particular), "but she does not like me very well and I can never atone."
She looked back at me again. "I know I must honor my mother, but it is hard to do, especially when my father takes so much amusement in her follies. I also resent that my father chose my mother. Although he is a scholar, I have no doubt he selected her simply because she was so lovely, the acknowledged 'beauty of Meryton' in her day, rather than because he cared about her. I understand she looked a lot like Jane. Having seen the mismatch between my parents, I have vowed to only marry for love, but men do not want clever wives. My mother has told me that often enough."
Upon hearing the last I could not help but interrupt: "You are wrong at least as far as the man before you. Your wit and mind are treasures."
Miss Elizabeth smiled at me then, and I judged it to be a true smile. She blinked away the threatened tears, although she did have to dab at her nose a bit afterwards. "Thank you for saying that, Mr. Darcy. I want to think that not all men are like my father in that regard, perhaps not even he, that maybe if he had it to do all over again that he might choose differently."
She proceeded to tell me, "I was irrevocably changed by what I heard that day, although I did not really know how much at the time. I only felt raw, wounded. But gradually, my wit became my shield and I learned that by laughing I could keep my tears at bay. Both are lessons that my father taught me well without even knowing he was teaching me. I believe he uses these tools in much the same way as I do."
I responded, "I hope you never need such devices to protect yourself from me, that we might simply say things to each other with honesty, that your laughter may bubble up from genuine mirth and not pain."
"I will try," she told me. "As for my father, I know he wishes he did not have to be married to my mother, but his honor prevents him from shaming her. To be yoked so unequally has dissuaded me from seeking out most potential suitors. Wealth or a comfortable situation would not be enough if I could not respect and esteem my husband. I have perfected a manner to insult and needle without seeming to do so. I did this with you, but I dare say you did not understand what I was doing."
"I did not, but I did notice your fine eyes and playful nature. Thank you for trusting me with more."
I felt that there was much more I wanted to say, but during our last exchange Georgiana had slipped to my side. She informed us, "The hour grows late, Brother and I ought to return."
With regret (at least on my part, but I hoped on her part as well) we began to exchange our goodbyes and prepared to part. It should not have been so difficult, knowing we would see each other later at Mrs. Collins's tea.
As we were about to leave, I remembered to warn her, "Do not expect me to say much at the tea today. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had other ideas of who I should marry and I do not want him to perceive my regard at this juncture as he might endeavor to interfere with our meetings, so do not expect much direct preference there from me."
"I understand," she acknowledged.
I nodded and then we left in opposite directions. Whereas after our last meeting I felt only excited for the future, now I felt both excitement and warmth. The warmth felt like sunlight upon my skin but deep within me.
At the tea I felt comfortable, though I said little. My cousin dominated all conversation and was his usual charming self. I let the conversation flow around me, though I did make sure to complement our hostess. When I said I hoped to see them again soon, I was only thinking of Miss Elizabeth. She gave me a shy smile, which I knew was her agreement for us to meet again in the morning.
