Chapter Twelve

August 16, 1812

The Lake House

Ramsgate

Elizabeth

Nearly a week had passed, and still Elizabeth had not received another letter from Mr Darcy. Her previous notions about his arrogance and conceit began to resurface, teasing her thoughts as she invented all manner of explanations for the delay. Yet none seemed plausible, and she fretted that perhaps the gentleman had decided to sever their correspondence due to her plethora of less-than-ideal relations.

Jane noticed her disquiet and attributed it to Elizabeth’s extended time indoors. Charles had insisted that his wife rest and regain her strength after she had suffered a brief spell of nausea earlier in the week. Though they had traced the cause to something she ate, and her symptoms soon abated, Elizabeth had dutifully kept her sister company.

“Lizzy, that is the third time you have sighed so dramatically,” Jane teased as the sisters worked on yet another baby gown. “Are you thinking of a certain gentleman of our acquaintance?”

Elizabeth nearly laughed aloud. A gentleman indeed occupied her thoughts, though not one Jane—or she, for that matter—had ever met. “I assure you, my thoughts are far more agreeably engaged,” she replied lightly.

“What could be more agreeable than contemplating a gentleman who pays you such tenacious attention?” Jane’s tone was genuinely perplexed, and she glanced up from her work with a look of confusion.

“A gentleman paying me attention whom I esteemed would be a start,” Elizabeth muttered. “Besides, I have told you, there is no formal understanding between Mr Blandishman and me.”

“You do not esteem Mr Blandishman?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips and set aside her work before turning to her sister. “Mr Blandishman is a perfectly suitable man, but he possesses a streak of self-conceit that I find rather unappealing. His company is not entirely objectionable, yet I do not seek it. I neither dream of him nor look forward to our next conversation, even as he departs. He does not make my heart beat faster or cause my breath to quicken. Were I to compare my feelings for him to those of another acquaintance, I should place him somewhere between Sir William Lucas and Arnold Goulding.”

Jane tut-tutted. “That is a poor assessment!” she said dejectedly. “I had so hoped you would form an attachment, so that I might tell Mama I succeeded where she did not.”

Elizabeth laughed good-naturedly. “That is quite wicked, Jane! I applaud your deviousness. Alas, Mr Blandishman has yet to stir any passion within me. I made it clear that whilst his acquaintance is acceptable, we are not courting. He appears to accept that.”

“Very well, Lizzy. I shall refrain from teasing you further on the matter. If you do not feel a passionate regard for him, then he is not the one for you.” Jane smiled pleasantly, though Elizabeth thought she detected a trace of disappointment in her sister’s eyes.

No, Elizabeth’s passions lay elsewhere, but how could she explain to Jane that she had fallen in love with a figure from the past? The conversation lapsed into silence once more as they worked steadily for another half hour.

“Perhaps a walk would do you good,” Jane suggested at length. “You have been tapping your foot madly for at least ten minutes. Go on. I can manage here, and I daresay Charles will return shortly to keep me company.”

The speed with which Elizabeth set aside the gown caused Jane to raise an eyebrow. Thankfully, her sister said nothing. “I shall return in time for tea,” Elizabeth promised, hurrying from the room.

“Take a footman!” Jane called after her. Elizabeth waved in acknowledgement as she made her way to prepare.

James, rather than John, attended her, maintaining a respectful distance as Elizabeth briskly walked towards the park. Her thoughts were in turmoil, shifting from concern that Mr Darcy had discarded her, to righteous anger at the possibility he could be so shallow. Her breath quickened, and her pace increased until she was nearly running. Rounding a corner near the fountain, she collided with a man in the path. The force of the collision sent them both sprawling. James caught her in time to prevent her from falling to the ground, but the man she had run into was not so fortunate and he now lay in a heap on the path.

She groaned inwardly as she realised it was Mr Blandishman. Trust that gentleman to be unable to keep his feet. Her more contrary thoughts chastised her—was he truly so terrible? He was here, after all, and not two years in the past. He had shown her attention, and she need not wait for delayed letters to feel his approbation.

“My dear Mr Blandishman!” she said impulsively, moving to his side and crouching down. “Are you well? I am terribly sorry. I was not attending as I walked.”

“Have a care, Miss Bennet!” Mr Blandishman admonished, ignoring her outstretched hand as he got to his feet, brushing off his breeches and jacket. “This is a new coat, you know, and I should hate for it to be ruined by an inattentive young lady.”

She drew closer to him and brushed some dry grass from the front of the coat. “Forgive me?” she asked, infusing her voice with a forced chagrin and apology. She lowered her gaze, as she had often seen Lydia do. “I fear my mind has been a jumble today. I was quite lost in my thoughts.”

Mr Blandishman stilled, his attention shifting from his attire to her. There was a gleam of speculation in his eyes, and Elizabeth felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She knew exactly where his thoughts were leading, and in his arrogance, he would surely assume he was the cause of her inner turmoil.

“Dare I ask if I am the subject of these ‘jumbled thoughts’?” he enquired, his voice laced with smugness.

She was correct—he believed she referred to him. But a tiny, wicked voice whispered in her mind. Did you not intend him for him to think that? Is that not why you acted so? Yes. She had wanted to punish Mr Darcy, even as she acknowledged the futility of it; he was not here, and it was she alone who would suffer for offering Mr Blandishman encouragement she did not mean. Instant regret for her impulsive actions consumed her. Dear heavens, did I just mimic Lydia?

Elizabeth stepped back, leaving a proper distance between them. “I am not at liberty to share my thoughts at this time,” she murmured softly, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The fear of what her actions might provoke gnawed at her. Mr Blandishman would assume she wished to increase his affection through suspense and would pursue her with even more determination.

He smiled knowingly. “I am a patient man,” he told her, offering his arm. “You will confide in time. I look forward to the day you do.”

Elizabeth accepted his offered arm gingerly, as though it were a snake that might bite. Mr Blandishman led her around the walking paths towards the fountain, regaling her with a stream of nonsensical thoughts and ideas. He required no response, leaving Elizabeth’s mind to freely wander to more pleasant matters.

They parted ways a quarter of an hour later, James still keeping a respectful distance as Elizabeth made her way back to the Lake House. Tea would be served soon, and all she wished for now was solitude.

“Letters for you, miss,” Susan greeted Elizabeth as she entered her chamber. “I’ve left them on your dressing table.”

“Thank you, Susan.” She had been expecting a letter from Charlotte, and perhaps it had finally arrived. A vain hope stirred within her that a letter from Mr Darcy might also be amongst the stack, but disappointment awaited her. The second missive was from her mother.

All the usual fiddle-faddle and enquiries about Elizabeth’s progress in securing a husband filled the letter. Charlotte’s, however, proved far more enjoyable, and Elizabeth began composing a reply to her friend before tea.

That evening’s engagement drew them from the Lake House to a soiree hosted by one of Charles’s new acquaintances. Mr Tobias Smith and his wife, Isabelle, had a residence just a few streets away. Mr Smith was involved in trade, but such matters had never concerned Charles, nor did they trouble his wife or sister.

The party was lavish and loud, the rooms of the house filled to bursting, and by the time Elizabeth found her bed, it was the early hours of the morning. She fell into an exhausted slumber and dreamed of Mr Darcy.

Her low spirits lingered the next day, and she half-heartedly played the pianoforte after breakfast before curling up in a chair with a book. Smythe brought her the post since Jane was still abed, and she eagerly sorted through the stack. There, at the very bottom of the pile, was a letter from Mr Darcy. Her heart rejoiced—he had not forsaken her! The rest of the post forgotten, Elizabeth took her letter to her chambers so as not to be disturbed.

August 16, 1810

Dear Elizabeth,

I must apologise for my delayed reply. It has been a busy week. Georgiana has suffered some neglect from me, so consumed have I been in business, and thus I dedicated much of the past several days to her entertainment. We visited the shops and Mrs Peacock’s tea parlour. Have you gone yet, and tasted her pastries?

Amongst other matters, I have sent numerous enquiries in search of a companion for my sister. I have received several favourable replies and hope to interview candidates immediately upon my return to London…

Mr Darcy wrote about the trivialities of day-to-day life, captivating Elizabeth's attention and drawing her into every detail. With each word, she came to know him better and lost a little more of her heart to him. She reflected on her pique from the day before with regret. Not only had she given Mr Blandishman hope when there was none, but she had once again judged Mr Darcy too hastily.

He responded to her news about the King's impending declaration of insanity, though he seemed to overlook her revelations from Mrs Nelson . His impressions of her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were also favourable, leaving her with fresh guilt for having prematurely condemned him.

His thoughts on Mr Blandishman were particularly diverting. He sounds every bit as colourless as his name, Mr Darcy wrote. Has there ever been an appellation that suited a man so well? Would you truly be happy with such a gentleman?

Elizabeth knew she would not. Mr Blandishman would make some woman a suitable husband, but it would not be her. Mayhap she could introduce him to Mary.

She and Mr Darcy continued exchanging letters through the remainder of August and into September. With each passing day, the time of Mr Darcy’s departure from Ramsgate drew closer, and with each letter, Elizabeth fell deeper and deeper in love with the gentleman from Derbyshire. How she would miss him when he left!

Mr Blandishman had indeed taken Elizabeth’s behaviour that fateful day as encouragement, despite her earlier words of disinterest, and he continued to call at least twice a week, sometimes more. Elizabeth began avoiding the house whenever he arrived. Nevertheless, Charles and Jane felt compelled to ask him to dine each week. With extra caution, Elizabeth maintained the strictest propriety in her unwanted suitor’s company, enduring his increased attentions without complaint. It was her fault, after all.

One last letter arrived for Elizabeth the day Mr Darcy was to depart for London in 1810. She opened it slowly, knowing this would be the last she heard from him until his return to Ramsgate the following year.

September 15, 1810

My dearest Elizabeth,

I write with a heavy heart, knowing that we will be apart for some months. Your letters have become very dear to me, and I do not know how I shall manage without them. The amusing anecdotes and astute observations you share have delighted me beyond measure, and your intelligence has captivated my interest. Your wit and vivacity have enchanted me; I am under your spell. Even now, I search for some means by which I might shift my responsibilities to another and remain in Ramsgate through the winter.

There will be no chance for your reply before my departure this afternoon, and so this moment must serve to express the deepest sentiments of my heart. My love for you, Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, is undeniable. Though we have yet to meet in person, I know that day will come, and when it does, every sentiment written here shall be voiced without hesitation. It is not my place to plead for your hand, though it is my greatest desire. Instead, I ask only that you refrain from acting hastily during these months apart. Do not throw your future away on Mr Blandishman. You are my equal in every way, and to learn that your hand has been given to another would be unbearable.

I love you. Wait for me.

Enclosed is a token of my esteem. Think of me when you wear it, and may this talisman lessen the pain of our separation.

Sincerely yours,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Enclosed in the letter was a beautiful silver chain. The links formed delicately crafted flowers, and Elizabeth loved the necklace instantly. Placing it around her neck, her fingers gently caressed the shining metal. He knew her so well.

I will wait, she promised him, though he could neither see nor hear her. No matter how long it takes.