Chapter 18

Eighteen

More than a month later, the Bennet family had settled into what was now their daily routine—obliged to endure a lengthy period of mourning for a deceased family member who could mean nothing at all to any of them. What an odd twist of fate, that being the case, for there was a time when most of the Bennets regarded Wickham with the utmost esteem. Blessed with such happy manners, he easily made friends wherever he went and there was not one among them who would not vouch for his goodness—Elizabeth included, especially Elizabeth. Blinded by those deficits she once allowed as evidence of his goodness, she could not help but think of their past with displeasure.

What felt like forced bereavement was really beginning to take its toll on the Bennet family's sensibilities, particularly Elizabeth's, who had reason to think more poorly of the deceased than the others.

Now she and her family must be bound by strict rules of decorum: a mourning period of six months was common for a brother-in-law, much shorter than for immediate family members such as one's parent, spouse, or child. So, there was that. At least the intensity of mourning attire for a brother- in-law would also be less strict than for immediate family. Women might wear black for a short time, followed by more subdued colors like gray or lavender as they transitioned to half-mourning. But the worst sacrifice of them all was limited social engagements—no opportunities for gaiety by attending balls or large gatherings.

Deviating from these customs could lead to gossip or social consequences for the Bennets, who were still suffering the root cause of it all, that being Lydia's supposed elopement. People talked even if they did not always voice their sentiments aloud.

There was some consolation that Mrs. Wickham was far away in Scotland, else Elizabeth was certain her frequent complaints would make everyone else's sacrifices seem insignificant. As it was, Lydia's recent letters had been filled with tales of her escapades in Scotland, blatantly ignoring the somber reasons for her presence there. She wrote of the grand parties she intended to attend the second the mourning period was over, lamenting the restrictive bereavement customs with utmost disdain.

With Jane not being privy to all that had happened in Lydia's recovery, save what the latter alluded to when she was at Longbourn, she suffered more apprehension over what she perceived as Mr. Bingley's defection.

Elizabeth and Jane found a quiet moment in the east parlor to discuss the gentleman's conspicuous absence. Leaning close, Jane's voice carried a note of uncertainty. "Could it be as simple as him observing the mourning period, or has Lydia's recklessness indeed cost me Mr. Bingley's esteem? Do you suppose he has no knowledge of our family's loss, making my latter conjecture on his motive for staying away true?"

Elizabeth pondered thoughtfully before responding, her eyes drifting to the window. "Mr. Bingley is likely aware of Lydia's situation. Was Miss Bingley's letter not confirmation enough?"

"It is not as though his sister has not withheld information from him before. When he was last here in Hertfordshire, he told me he did not know of my being in town during the spring."

"Oh," Elizabeth exclaimed. "Why did you not mention it before?"

"I daresay it slipped my mind—there was so much more for the two of us to entertain after having been apart for so long."

Elizabeth dared not pressure her sister for more, feeling as she did that this was not the time, especially if any ensuing talk might lead to portraying Mr. Darcy in an unfavorable light. "I am sure Mr. Darcy would have told him since he was present at Wickham's demise."

Her thoughts were immediately returned to the matter of Miss Bingley's letter, which Jane had shared with her. Miss Bingley's words were draped in condolences, a thinly veiled gloating hidden beneath expressions of sympathy. By way of sentiments ostensibly written to Jane, the pernicious young woman not so subtly taunted Elizabeth on what a favorite of hers the deceased had been, suggesting she must be grieving the loss as severely as was the young widow—a point Elizabeth deemed as ironic.

It was for that reason she could not judge Miss Bingley too harshly, for she indeed supposed herself just as bereft as Lydia, which was not saying much, given the frequency and nature of Lydia's letters, citing the good fun she was secretly planning and the pretty dresses she intended to don the moment the dreadful mourning period was over. She often went even further, lamenting why she should be bothered by such outrageous rules anyway, what with her being so far away in Scotland where she could just as easily pass herself off as the high-spirited young lady she knew herself to be.

Reflecting on Miss Bingley's and Lydia's letters, Elizabeth felt an unsettling mix of emotions stir within her. There was a pang of sadness for how little her sister comprehended the gravity of her situation, mixed with a touch of admiration for Mr. Darcy's quiet sacrifice. He had done so much for a family connected to him only through tentative threads of acquaintance and, perhaps, a lingering tender regard for herself. Yet, she hesitated to delve too deeply into that thought, wary of where it might lead her heart.

Oh, to mourn the loss of the one person in the world who had been the very cause of ruining their lives, their respectability, and their prospects for future happiness. There was some consolation in knowing that Lydia would want for nothing for the rest of her life, and Elizabeth found a measure of comfort in knowing that Mr. Darcy had been the means of bringing it all about.

The most astounding part of it all was that he had no reason for doing something for Lydia, of all people, a fallen girl with no connection to him at all. Against her reason, part of Elizabeth could not help but insist he had done it all for her. The same part that wondered if such were indeed the case, why had he not returned to Hertfordshire by now?

The part of her dictated by logic questioned whether the true reason for his benevolence was rooted in the guilt of not having exposed Wickham when they were all in Hertfordshire last autumn as he had told her uncle. Could his generous disposition be attributed to the history of their shared upbringing at Pemberley? It was no secret that the gentlemen had once considered themselves close childhood friends despite their subsequent parting of the ways.

Only Mr. Darcy knows the truth of it all. Dare I broach the subject when, or rather if, I ever see him again?

A few weeks hence, the much hoped-for and yet surprising return of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley to Hertfordshire occurred. Mrs. Bennet, ever the determined matriarch whose primary occupation was finding husbands for her remaining unwed daughters, sensed an opportunity. With a mixture of practicality and sly encouragement, she insisted that Jane and Mr. Bingley take advantage of the fine weather to enjoy a walk. Of course, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were obliged to accompany them.

She took Elizabeth aside, her voice low and conspiratorial and said, "My dear Lizzy, I do apologize for the inconvenience of having to entertain the proud Mr. Darcy once more. It baffles me why he keeps bringing himself around and getting in Bingley's way. Surely, there are others he could visit if he wished it. There must be some poor creature somewhere in the world who can tolerate his presence."

Elizabeth held her tongue, half appalled, half satisfied at her mother's words, recognizing the irony in them. Despite her mother's complaints, this arrangement served Elizabeth's own hopes better than Mrs. Bennet could possibly imagine.

Later that day, as Darcy and Elizabeth ambled along, side by side, in perfect harmony with each other after a long walk about the countryside with Jane and Bingley, she found herself once again expressing her gratitude for the part he had played in his friend's return to Hertfordshire.

"It was all I could do to dissuade him from coming sooner—what with the death of your sister's husband."

Having received his condolences earlier, Elizabeth had accepted them. If he had been insincere in offering such sentiments, in light of all that had transpired to necessitate them, she was no less insincere in her acceptance.

"Bingley's tenancy at Netherfield must surely provide the necessary excuse for his being in Hertfordshire, even if, ostensibly, he is here to be close to your sister," said Mr. Darcy. "No doubt, an engagement between the two of them is inevitable, allowing for the proper passage of time."

His words stirred in Elizabeth's mind the memory of Jane's first letter from Miss Bingley, which had stated that her brother would not be returning to Netherfield last year as he had promised, and all the subsequent stratagems employed to keep them apart when Jane was in town. Fortunately, the young lady's power over her brother had diminished considerably, owing to Bingley's discovery of the unmitigated heartache Jane had endured. Elizabeth, while she had long since forgiven Mr. Darcy for his role in the scheme, had not quite forgotten.

"And how will you feel about that, Mr. Darcy?" she asked, wondering if he still held reservations about the sincerity of Jane's love for his friend.

"I am certain your sister and my friend will be incredibly happy together. I have detected a similarity in their temperaments that makes them ideally suited for felicity in marriage."

"But I was given to think being opposites was the best ingredient for happiness in marriage."

"Which goes to prove there are no fixed rules where love and happiness are concerned. The heart wants what it wants."

"Indeed, I could not agree more. It pleases me beyond measure that my sister shall finally have the chance at the felicity long overdue for one of her temperament. All the world is good, in Jane's view, and the recent heartbreaks as well as setbacks we have all endured have done nothing to dampen her good opinion of the world."

"Bingley is a lucky man to have found your sister," said Mr. Darcy and in a manner which convinced Elizabeth he genuinely believed what he espoused.

All the reasons she cared for her walking companion as much as she did flooded her senses. "Indeed, I am immensely grateful for Mr. Bingley's return. It is a shame your own time in Hertfordshire will be of such a short duration."

"Do you really feel that way, Miss Elizabeth?"

She swallowed. Was this the moment she had been hoping for? To tell him all that she had longed for him to hear.

By then they had returned to the manor house, having lost track of Jane and Bingley some time ago. Before she could fashion a reply to his question, they were joined by Elizabeth's sister Mary, who had come running out the door to retrieve her at their mother's behest.

Elizabeth threw the gentleman an apologetic look while being pulled away by her sister. Whatever is my mother's reason had better be a good one, she silently complained.

It turned out it was not, for her mother had congratulated herself for having done a great service to her second eldest daughter by sparing Elizabeth any more time than was necessary in the proud Mr. Darcy's company. How vexing was her mother's low opinion of the gentleman, especially after all he had done to bring about a better life for her favorite daughter than could have been expected on the heels of such a scandal as Lydia had caused.

Elizabeth had not yet broached the subject of her gratitude to Mr. Darcy on behalf of herself and her family. Finding the right words to say without revealing the source of her intelligence had been too taxing on her mind to bring up the matter earlier.

She hurried back to the parlor, her pulse quickening with each step. The conversation with Mr. Darcy had been lingering in her mind since they were parted, and she felt the urgency to address the feelings that had been stirring within her for so long. The moment they had shared had felt like the beginning of something—something...

But by the time she returned to the parlor where she had expected him to be, it was too late. She learned he had been summoned away, though she was not informed of the reason.

He is gone.

The pang of disappointment slammed against her chest with unexpected force. How many chances had they missed already? She closed her eyes briefly, willing herself to calm the rising tide of regret. But it was futile.

How long must she wait for the right moment? For another opportunity to tell him—what exactly? That she understood him now? That she was grateful? That her heart had shifted in ways she could scarcely admit even to herself?

What an unfortunate stroke of fate, indeed. Their final intercourse had been so ordinary, so restrained, when there was so much more that should have been said. What was meant to be their last moments together before he left for London had been stolen away from her, and Elizabeth did not know whether anger or disappointment comprised the greater part of her emotions. Certainly, she would see him again. He had all but promised to visit his friend at Netherfield. Thus, the question uppermost in Elizabeth's mind was not whether she would see Mr. Darcy again, but rather when.