Chapter Sixteen

March 1, 1813

The Lake House

Ramsgate

Elizabeth

Elizabeth tickled little William’s feet, and her nephew giggled madly, his legs flailing and his arms waving. Jane sat in a nearby chair, holding little Margaret and telling a silly story about a cat that could not land on its feet. It was the first of March; the weather had warmed enough to tempt Elizabeth out of doors during the afternoons. Soon it would be time for William and Margaret to rest, leaving their aunt free to seek a few hours of solitude.

Jane’s health was much improved. It had taken two months before she could do more than rest and feed her babies. In early February, the children fell ill with colds, and Jane had further worn herself out nursing them through it. Elizabeth had provided constant aid, giving her sister time to rest so she did not become ill and have to take to her bed once more.

Charles, too, took an active role in parenting his children. He was a marvellous father, crawling around the floor, reading stories, and rocking the twins to sleep. Anyone with eyes could see that he adored the babies and that his love for Jane and their family encompassed his entire being.

William began to fuss, and Elizabeth took him to the wet nurse. Jane fed Margaret, and the tiny pair were asleep within thirty minutes.

“I believe I shall go to the garden,” Elizabeth told Jane. “The warm breeze beckons!”

“Be off with you,” Jane chuckled. “I need to meet with Mrs Palmer to finalise our plans for the dinner party.”

Elizabeth groaned. Her sister had planned an evening of entertainment for the small circle of acquaintances they had made in Ramsgate. Naturally, the guest list included the Nelsons and Mr Blandishman, along with several other couples. Elizabeth would have to spend the night paired with Mr Blandishman, since he was the only unattached gentleman invited.

“It is not so bad,” Jane chided gently. “And it is only polite that we show some hospitality to our friends now that I am well again.”

Elizabeth sighed and nodded. “You are right, of course. But it is not the evening that causes my pique; it is the thought of spending the entire night with Mr Blandishman by my side.”

“I do not see what you find so objectionable about the gentleman.” Jane regarded her sister with a concerned expression. “He may not be a wit, but he is a good man.”

“Yes, he is a ‘good’ man, Elizabeth replied with a touch of sarcasm—and also egotistical, pompous, condescending, and completely uninteresting.” Elizabeth crossed her arms and affected a mock pout.

“Can you find no redeeming qualities? Besides the fact that he is financially secure and an excellent match?”

Elizabeth considered. “He is thoughtful, in his own way, and seeks to please me by showing interest in my preferences… at least when he deems those preferences acceptable.”

“Can you not name something without a caveat attached?”

“At the present time, no . I tolerate Mr Blandishman’s company, but do not welcome it, I am sorry to say.” She sighed inwardly. An easy feat when one is constantly comparing him to Mr Darcy. Once more, Elizabeth’s heart longed for a word from that gentleman. It was only March—was she to survive another month without a letter? Wanting to change the subject, she added, “Really, Jane, you seem intent on seeing all others wed now that you are in that happy state! Why do you persist in thrusting me at Mr Blandishman?”

Jane laughed and waved her away. “You need not marry the man to see his ‘good’ side, Lizzy. Very well, I shall cease my efforts. Go on your ramble. I am certain you will feel better when you return.” Her attention returned to the ledger before her, and Elizabeth left the room without further reply.

She donned her spencer and bonnet, and as she reached for her gloves, the sight of a letter on the salver made her pause. The post had come earlier, and when there had been no letter for her, she had felt a wave of disappointment. But now—her heart quickened, as she recognised the bold, familiar script of Mr Darcy. A rush of warmth filled her chest, and she snatched the letter with trembling fingers. The forgotten gloves slipped from her hands as she hurried outside, seeking the privacy of the garden. There, hidden from view and seated on the bench under the hollowed tree, she would at last devour his words in blissful solitude.

March 1, 1811

Dear Elizabeth,

Words cannot express how relieved I will be to place this letter on the salver immediately upon my arrival at the Lake House. These months apart have been a torment, and I can scarcely write for the anticipation rising within me. There is so much to tell—so much we have left unsaid since September—and I hardly know where to begin.

Richard and I found and agreed upon a companion for Georgiana. Her name is Mrs Younge and hiring her has proven to be a boon. Georgiana is fond of her, and I have found nothing of which to complain. The lady accompanies us to Ramsgate and will continue Georgiana’s education whilst we are here.

We remained in London until November, at which time we returned to Pemberley. I did something rather bold in October, and now I must ask you to search your memories from years ago as I tell you the tale.

It had not been more than a month before I missed your letters dreadfully. I contemplated travelling to Hertfordshire to contrive an introduction but recalled that you visited your relations in London when possible. More particularly, I remembered the story of your search for a book for your father’s birthday. With some clever deductions, I narrowed down the time that you might have visited Hatchard’s and went there daily, watching for you.

Do you remember now? I caused you to blush, so I hope I left an impression. Did you not recognise me when you first saw my likeness? I confess, I much prefer the living, breathing Elizabeth Bennet to the drawing. Your eyes are very fine—has anyone told you?

Rather than quenching my need to hear from you and be near you, that day at Hatchard’s only fanned the flames of my affection. It is fortunate that necessity drove me from London, or I might have gone to Hertfordshire just to catch a glimpse of you. How strange that would have been, for time would not yet have dulled your memory of the ‘besotted’ gentleman at Hatchard’s who so kindly assisted you in securing a book for your father.

Winters in Derbyshire can be long. I kept myself occupied with letters of business and tenant matters whilst impatiently waiting for the time to pass. Then, after Christmas, Georgiana fell ill. Her condition was bleak for some nights, but at last the fever broke. She retained a lingering cough, and so I resolved then to take her to Ramsgate as soon as the weather warmed enough for her to travel. I moved my annual journey to Rosings Park from April to February, and, as I write these words, now we are trundling down the road towards the Lake House.

The visit with Lady Catherine was predictably tense. I disabused her of the notion that Anne and I will ever marry. I wonder if this visit to Ramsgate is the reason she claims, in your present day, that Anne will never marry. My aunt and I did not part amicably, though she did allow me to kiss her farewell. Time will tell, I suppose.

Did your sister come through her confinement in good health? How is your new niece or nephew?

I close this letter now and look forward to hearing from you as soon as may be. Pray, do not keep me waiting long, for I fear I cannot bear it.

Yours,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Elizabeth let out an unladylike squeal and hugged the letter to her chest. He had missed her—at least as much as she had missed him! And now he was here, a full month before he had hoped to be. And to think that she had already met him! Elizabeth struggled to recall the man’s features from their meeting at Hatchard’s, as the memories had faded. She remembered her unaccountable shyness as he regarded her, making it impossible for her to look into his face for long. That had been Mr Darcy! He had known who she was and arranged to meet her. It was very romantic. She now understood why his likeness had seemed vaguely familiar to her.

But how dreadful for Miss Darcy to have been so ill! She hoped the young lady would wholly recover soon. Elizabeth knew how devastating it was to watch a loved one suffer.

She did not linger in the garden. Instead, she returned to the house and went to her chamber, determined to waste no time replying to Mr Darcy.

March 1, 1813

Dear Mr Darcy,

Your letter could not have arrived at a more opportune time. My dear sister wonders why I resist the attentions of an honourable man. She has rightly observed that I have not attempted to appreciate Mr Blandishman’s merits, but I find it difficult to do so when comparing him to another gentleman of my acquaintance.

I am so pleased that you have returned and hasten to respond to your missive. Jane came through her confinement alive—a bold statement, perhaps, but there was a brief time when the midwife was deeply concerned. However, I am pleased to say that we Bennets are of hearty stock, and my sister has now recovered from her difficult pregnancy and delivery. She is hardly any worse for wear, though the midwife wonders if Jane will carry another child.

As for the babe, there were two! Yes, I am the proud aunt of a niece and a nephew. William Charles was born first, followed by Margaret Elizabeth. William has tawny locks with hints of red, and his sister had dark hair that has lightened considerably in the last months. Both are amiable, just like their parents, and I take much delight in spending my hours entertaining them.

We spent our winter at the Lake House. We did not attend parties or soirees, for Jane’s recovery has been abominably slow. By January, she was still abed for much of the day, though she has now regained most of her strength. The children, thankfully, were in health, save for a brief cold. The poor dears were miserable until it passed.

Charles and Jane will host a dinner party in two weeks and are inviting all the new acquaintances we have made in Ramsgate. It will be the first time they have formally entertained at the Lake House. Jane’s condition and recovery after the births prohibited us from having guests. I did not mind the solitude. I fear I am becoming like my father, for the thought of having a house full of guests holds little appeal for me. I would rather hide in my room with a book.

I will deposit this on the salver immediately, hoping you will have it soon. Are we still to meet in April, or shall we move the date forward?

Yours sincerely,

E. Bennet

Elizabeth sanded and sealed the letter. Her heart was lighter than it had been in a long while. The prospect of finally meeting the man she had been writing to for months filled her with anticipation. She carried the letter downstairs and placed it on the salver before returning to the garden for quiet reflection.

The lavender had just begun to show new green shoots, but it would be many months before the plant bloomed again. Yet even in its dormant state, it reminded her of Mr Darcy’s approbation, and she took comfort in that.

Her thoughts turned to the last letter he had written before leaving Ramsgate the previous autumn: Your wit and vivacity have enchanted me; I am under your spell… I love you. Wait for me.

Elizabeth smiled softly to herself. She loved him too, though she had yet to say the words. She could not deny it. The mere thought of living without him brought pain to her chest and agony to her soul. She would tell him, and soon, but not in a letter. It seemed only right to wait and share her heart in person, to see the delight and love in his eyes as she spoke her deepest feelings to him—and to hear him say her name as he returned her sentiments.

Their correspondence resumed with enthusiasm, and the back and forth of letters across the two years that separated them began anew. Mr Darcy quickly agreed to move their meeting forward, and they settled upon the sixteenth of March, the day after Jane’s dinner party. Mr Darcy, ever considerate, assured Elizabeth he did not wish to intrude upon the Lake House before then, having no desire to impose upon her brother and sister. The date suited Elizabeth perfectly; it gave her something to think on as she endured Mr Blandishman’s company throughout the evening. The day after the dinner, she would take James or John with her to Mrs Peacock’s tearoom and finally meet Mr Darcy.

The fifteenth of March dawned beautifully. The staff at the Lake House bustled about, making final preparations, and ensuring all was ready. Jane reviewed the last of the details whilst Elizabeth tended to her niece and nephew. Her sister had insisted that she needed no other aid. The wet nurse and maid would manage the twins during the evening, but Jane was loath to leave their care in others’ hands more than necessary.

An hour before the guests would arrive, Susan helped Elizabeth dress. She donned a gown of sage green sarsenet and a string of lustrous pearls. Her maid arranged her hair fashionably, dotting the locks with matching pearl hairpins. Elbow-length gloves completed the ensemble, and Elizabeth made her way to the parlour where Jane would receive their guests.

Her sister was waiting. Jane looked exquisitely lovely, her modish attire enhancing her natural beauty. It was clear to anyone who saw her why Charles had fallen so deeply in love. Those who truly knew her, however, understood that her inner beauty was just as captivating as her outward appearance.

“There you are!” Jane smiled as Elizabeth entered the room. Charles arrived shortly after and approached his wife, kissing her cheek tenderly.

“You look ravishing, my dear,” he said. “I shall be the envy of every man here tonight. Is all ready?”

Jane nodded, smiling serenely. “I will have dinner served at seven. Whilst we dine, the servants will set up the card tables. After that, tea and coffee will conclude the evening.”

“It sounds as though you have everything well managed.” Charles squeezed Jane’s hand, and Elizabeth’s heart tightened. Tomorrow , she reminded herself. Tomorrow it is your turn.

The bell rang, and Jane smoothed the front of her gown. She moved to the door with Charles, ready to welcome their first guest. Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantel. They did not expect any guests for another half hour. Who had come so early?

Smythe entered the room with Mr Blandishman at his side, and it took all of Elizabeth’s restraint not to groan aloud. Of course, she griped inwardly. Who else would lack the social graces to arrive so far before the appointed hour?

Mr Blandishman moved to Elizabeth’s side immediately after greeting Mr and Mrs Bingley. “How do you do this evening, Miss Bennet?” he asked, scooping up her hand and bowing over it. “It has been a week since we were last in company. Have you been keeping busy?”

“I spend my time with my niece and nephew.” Elizabeth repeated her practised answer, knowing full well he would commend her for her dedication before enquiring when they might walk again.

She was not wrong. He did just that, and she evaded the question by claiming a need to excuse herself for a moment. Elizabeth left the room and found refuge in a small alcove by the stairs, seeking to regain her equanimity. Her irritation with the gentleman was not entirely sound; he had done nothing that evening to deserve her ire. Yet, she found his predictability tiresome, and his bland personality more of a trial that evening than it ever had been before.

This most certainly stems from the fact that I am to meet Mr Darcy tomorrow, she reasoned with herself. I can tolerate a bore for one more evening. It is no remarkable feat. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth steeled herself for the remainder of the night. With a smile fixed firmly in place, she rejoined the occupants of the parlour. Two more couples had joined the gathering, and she greeted them warmly before moving in the opposite direction of Mr Blandishman. Her subtle attempts proved futile, however, as the gentleman soon made his way back to her side.

“Have I told you about the letter I received from my cousin, Miss Bennet?” he began. “He is in Ireland and has let a lovely cottage for the summer…” Mr Blandishman continued speaking, leaving Elizabeth little opportunity to reply beyond a nod or the occasional noncommittal murmur.

Mr Blandishman kept her constant company through dinner, cards, and tea. By the end of the evening, Elizabeth felt utterly drained from the effort of maintaining civility and retreated directly to her bed, embracing the sweet oblivion that sleep promised.

~

Elizabeth awoke the next morning filled with anticipation. It was nine o’clock, much later than she normally rose, but she had no regret. There were only three hours until she would be at the tea shop with Mr Darcy. She hurried through her ablutions and through breakfast, only to find herself at sixes and sevens as time crawled slowly towards noon.

At last, at half-past eleven, she informed Jane of her plans and prepared to depart.

“Bring me some pastries, will you, Lizzy?” Charles asked from behind his newspaper. Elizabeth agreed and hurried from the room.

She asked John to accompany her and set a brisk pace as they strolled down streets towards Mrs Peacock’s shop. She arrived with five minutes to spare and looked for a seat. Mr Darcy had mentioned a particular spot by the window that offered a splendid view of the ocean, and Elizabeth chose a table there. John lingered outside on a bench, near enough to see her but far enough to give her a measure of privacy.

“Good afternoon, madam,” a shop assistant said. “What may I bring you?”

Elizabeth quickly ordered the pastries for Charles and a few things for herself. Mr Darcy would no doubt wish to procure his own preferences. She nibbled at her selection as the clock in the shop chimed first noon, then a quarter past twelve, and then half past twelve. With each passing quarter hour, her anxiety grew, and she found herself glancing at the door more frequently. When the clock struck one, doubts began to creep into her thoughts. By two, Elizabeth had finished both her order and Charles’s. A serving girl had refilled her tea several times, and she had ordered refreshments for John also.

As Elizabeth sat by the window, waiting, she noticed Mrs. Peacock bustling around the tea shop, her joy evident in every smile she gave her patrons. Earlier, the proprietor had ensured Elizabeth was comfortable, offering a cheerful recommendation for the day’s pastries. Mrs Peacock made sure every patron was satisfied, offering a kind word here, a plate of fresh pastries there, her laughter occasionally ringing through the air like music. It was no wonder Mr Darcy had spoken of her with such fondness. She exuded joy, just like he had said.

By the time the clock neared three, Mrs Peacock approached her table once more, her brow furrowed with concern. “You have been here a long while, my dear,” she said kindly. “Is everything all right?” Elizabeth forced a smile, though her heart was heavy. “I was expecting someone, but it appears they will not come.”

Mrs. Peacock’s eyes softened. “I see. Do let me know if you need anything else.”

Elizabeth nodded, and with a sympathetic smile, Mrs. Peacock moved on, leaving Elizabeth to gather her thoughts in the quiet of her disappointment.

At three, she had no choice but to accept the truth: Mr Darcy was not coming. She rose dejectedly, weighed down with the deepest disillusionment, and made her way outside. As if to match her mood, the heavens opened, and she and John were thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the Lake House.

“There you are, Lizzy!” Jane cried as they entered. “We had quite despaired of you! Come, let us get you dry! You are soaked through. You too, John, go and change.”

Elizabeth shivered as Jane ushered her upstairs to her chamber, where Susan was waiting with a fresh gown. The maid swiftly removed her sodden clothes and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

“I will ring for some tea,” Jane said as she guided Elizabeth to a chair near the fire. “A footman has stoked the flames to warm you whilst you wait." Her sister bustled away, no doubt to call for a tray.

Elizabeth said nothing. She stared into the fire, her mind racing over every conversation, every hope, and every dream of the past months. He had not come. She had waited, but he had not come. Surely, something vital must have kept him away—he had promised so faithfully.

She sank into the plush cushions as her first tears fell. Not wishing to speak with anyone, she stood, walked to her bed, and slipped beneath the coverlet, pulling it tightly around her. She rolled onto her side, facing away from the door. When Jane entered with Sally, Elizabeth feigned sleep until her sister and the maid left. Only when the room fell silent did she allow herself to truly weep.

Elizabeth longed to write to Mr Darcy, to demand why he had not come, but it was a futile thought. The Mr Darcy of 1811 would know no more than she why his future self had failed her. Was he ill? Was he married? Was he waylaid by highwaymen? It was impossible to know.

As she lay on her pillows, her tears subsided, and calm resignation settled over her. She had suspended her very existence for him. It was time to let go.