Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

L ate in the afternoon of her aborted wedding day, Elizabeth woke to the sounds of her family’s daily activity floating up to her. They sounded…usual. Lydia’s laughter, Mary’s soft playing, a lively discussion between her father and her uncle Gardiner, the clatter of a tray. How could they go along as if everything were the same? As if her whole life had not shattered while the eyes of everyone in her world watched?

She had begged to be left alone this morning, and they had acquiesced. She had slept so little the night before, she had fallen asleep rather easily, despite her mortification and sorrow. But now she was left with a cold, hard lump where her heart had been, and dry eyes stinging with tears which would not fall.

Her feelings veered wildly with terror that he was hurt. Did I tell him I love him? Did I say the words? Does he know I do? Is he well? Visions of him, bleeding, broken upon a muddy road haunted her.

The odds that Darcy had been in an accident were slim; if that were the case, why would not Colonel Fitzwilliam have simply said so, instead of, essentially, naming her as some sort of harlot? Besides, she did not want to hear news of an accident either; she must hope and pray it was not so. Yet it was a double-edged sword. If he was not injured, then he had decided not to come.

Darcy might reappear, with apologies and excuses; she longed for it, yearned for explanation. But Goulding’s recitation of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words was imprinted upon her soul.

“…Just because a group of yokels tried to force him into wedlock, he was under no obligation to support rumours and misunderstandings…a man has every right to come to his senses once he’s out from under a siren’s thumb.”

Yokels. Forced into wedlock. Rumours and misunderstandings. Come to his senses. Despite the condition of her heart, Elizabeth had a working brain. As the hours passed with no word from Darcy, the colonel’s words became an incessant refrain.

The faded afternoon light showed dull and grey through her open draperies. Rising, she moved to stare out at the farmlands beyond her window, but could see nothing but the remembrance of Darcy’s deep brown eyes, hearing the sincerity in his voice as he declared his love. She had offered, over and over, to give him more time before saying a word to anyone. He was the one who had refused. It made no sense! Why would he humiliate her ?

I cannot see him doing it. And yet, it is so.

There came a tap on her door; she did not want to see or talk to anyone, and thus ignored it. But after a moment, the door creaked open, and then shut. With a sigh, she turned her head to see her mother—probably the last person in England with whom she wished to speak. Bracing herself, she forced her voice into what she hoped was a reasonable tone.

“Yes, Mama?”

But Mrs Bennet said nothing, joining her at the window without comment. After a moment, Elizabeth returned to her view, and, finally, almost, forgot her mother’s presence.

“I wish I knew what to say,” her mama said at last, distracting Elizabeth from her numbness. “I did not like Mr Darcy much, not ever. But I was not in love with your papa when I married him. In time, I grew fond of him. He has given me a good life. I thought you could have the same.”

“I suppose we were misled,” Elizabeth said at last, unable to think of a suitable reply.

“Maybe. I do not see why a man like Mr Darcy could not do his own engagement-breaking, if he were going to. Mrs Nicholls at Netherfield told Mrs Hill that the colonel received an express this morning. I think there is probably more to this story than we understand.”

“Should I hold out hope, then?” Elizabeth said, looking at her mama again.

Mrs Bennet shook her head. “I do not know, Lizzy. But you are a clever girl, cleverer than I am, and probably a lot cleverer than Mr Darcy. I am not like you or your father; I never have the right words. But I know one thing—all will be well. You will be well. It might not seem like it today, but you don’t need that arrogant clunch in order to be happy. You were happy before you met him, and you will be again.”

“Are you sure?” Elizabeth choked out the words around the dull ache clogging her throat.

In the next moment, and for the first time in many years, Elizabeth found herself wrapped tightly in her mother’s embrace. “Oh, my sweet Lizzy. My poor, sweet girl,” Mrs Bennet said, patting her back as if she were in the nursery again with a skinned knee.

And finally, finally, the tears came, and Elizabeth sobbed within the shelter of her mother’s arms as if her heart would break.

At her mama’s behest, Elizabeth joined the family for dinner.

“You have a right to your tears. Most women would be hysterical. But I don’t see you behaving that way, Lizzy, losing your mind over a man. Besides, your cousin, Mr Collins, is yet our guest. I’m not saying as how he’s any great prize, but Mary likes him. I daresay if you wanted him, you could have him instead. Mary would get over it.”

“I do not think I am quite ready to move on just yet,” Elizabeth said and almost—but not quite—smiled. Her mama was still her mama, after all. “Mary is welcome to him.”

“She is awfully young,” Mrs Bennet sighed. “But I suppose it is an opportunity not to be missed.”

Her family must have made an agreement that Darcy’s name, and the awful wedding, would not be mentioned. Mr and Mrs Gardiner guided the conversation with ease to light topics of interest; Mrs Bennet’s table, as usual, was a fine one. It was almost surreal; it was so very usual —that word again—just a typical meal they might have had on almost any evening.

Mr Collins was rather silly, it was true. But he paid Elizabeth some rather lavish compliments that, he said, he had composed especially for the occasion.

For the occasion of my having been abandoned at the altar by another man? By the pained look upon her father’s face, she supposed that was exactly Mr Collins’s purpose.

I have two choices , she thought. I can burst into tears, or try to find the humour in it. And so, she made herself smile, and if it was not accompanied by any happy feeling, neither was it quite so difficult as she had thought it would be.

After dinner, Mary played, Mr Collins composed compliments, her sisters began a game of charades, and the evening passed tolerably well. Before she retired for the night, however, Mr Bennet called her into his book room, and all the heaviness and despair she had been trying to escape settled upon her shoulders. She sat in the chair she habitually sat upon, and he sat in his, and then he sighed.

“It would be better if I had a copy of the letter of permission that I sent with him to town. I ought to have made him sign something, perhaps write a letter to Mr Palmer instead of offering to make the church arrangements myself. But even so, I think we have enough for a breach of promise suit.”

“No, Papa,” Elizabeth said. “Please, please no. It would only be more humiliating.”

He sighed again. “I thought that is what you would say. I shall, of course, respect your wishes. But if I had ten minutes alone with the man, I could dispense all the justice needed, may he rot in hell.”

“Do not say that. He may have been injured. Perhaps we shall hear from him, soon. Perhaps he has an explanation.”

She saw, by the look on his face, that he did not believe there was any good one. However, and obviously for her sake, he tried. “Your mother says much the same thing. She warned me not to leap to conclusions. He may yet show.”

Elizabeth nodded, suddenly weary beyond belief—even though she had slept most of the day.

Mr Bennet shoved his hands through his thinning hair, looking older than she had ever seen him. “I have always said—rather foolishly, I think—that a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. I claimed it gave one a sort of distinction among her companions. However, when it is one’s favourite person in the world whose heart is broken, all such silly adages are shown for what they really are: trite, unfair nonsense. I never wanted it for you, Lizzy-girl.”

She nodded again, biting her lip.

“Your aunt and uncle will stay until next Friday. If Mr Darcy has not returned by then, they have invited you to go to London with them, to stay for as long as you like.”

It was a kindness.

“If he has not returned, or if I have heard nothing, I shall want to go.”