Page 37 of Beyond Pride, Past Prejudice
“You are wrong, Jane. Consider Papa. He is a man we know and adore, but only here, in his library, is he the father we shall always keep in our hearts. I yearned to witness Mr Darcy in his own library, engrossed in a book left upon a small table, scrutinising the door of a delicate cabinet that had failed to close properly—”
Elizabeth paused, her emotions overwhelming her, as she recalled waiting for Mr Darcy, imagining him entering that room where he spent his afternoons with family and friends.
“I was certain he would come.”
“Did he?” Mary asked with impatience, musing, perhaps for the first time in her life, on love as a real-life feeling that conquers the soul, mind, and heart rather than a mere passage in a novel.
She was listening to Elizabeth’s tale of love.
Mary was grateful to be present, glimpsing the depths of her sister’s feelings and discovering how a woman behaves when in love.
“He knew I had been invited by his sister, and I considered his presence would be a sign that he was beginning to forgive me. The ladies conversed, and I uttered the occasional word, but my heart clung to the door. It thumped incessantly in a frenzied rhythm each time someone entered, yet it was always just the butler or a maid. After an hour had elapsed, Mrs Gardiner rose, signalling our departure.”
“He did not come to see you, even though he likely knew you were a guest in his house,” Mary lamented.
“No, and for me, that marked the end.”
Still immersed in profound emotion, Mr Bennet’s gentle laughter roused them from their reverie. They stared at him, shocked.
“My dear, if only matters were as simple as you imagine! Mr Darcy is a powerful man in command of his own destiny. Your refusal deeply wounded him, for I am sure he never imagined encountering a woman who could spurn his hand. He is not like Mr Collins, who searched for a wife at Longbourn but remained relatively unperturbed when none of you wished to marry him, because he had cast his net with indifference. Mr Darcy, on the other hand, was that formidable and self-assured hunter who sought only one deer—”
“Oh, Papa, what a dreadful metaphor! I am far from a gentle deer,” Elizabeth exclaimed, though she could not help but find it both amusing and strangely illuminating.
“His disappointment ran deep, but I assure you, he did not surrender the chase.”
“Then why did he not come? I had to leave the letter in the hall.”
“He refrained from appearing because he is not yet prepared to demonstrate that he has forgotten you. Even if, in his heart, he may have achieved that for a time.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Elizabeth protested.
“Thank you, my dear daughter, for placing trust in your father! I can tell you for certain that the man was deeply hurt.”
They looked at Mr Bennet in astonishment, as they had indeed forgotten that their father was not solely a parent but someone who had once loved, suffered, and lived the life of a man rather than a father.
“Things are rather more complicated, unfortunately,” Elizabeth continued. “Lady Catherine wishes to see him married to her daughter, Anne de Bourgh.”
“Interesting!” exclaimed Mr Bennet, and for a brief moment, a flicker of concern crossed his face—one that did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth, who had been watching his every expression.
“It is serious, is it not?”
“It might be. We keep saying we live in a new age, that things are slowly changing in favour of women and marriages not dictated by family ties…but in truth, inherited rules still prevail, even now.”
“He will marry Miss de Bourgh!” cried Elizabeth. They all turned to her in astonishment, for they had never seen her so shaken, and though she might have tried to conceal it, the pain in her heart was plain to those who loved her.
“It is possible,” Mr Bennet admitted with a slight hesitation. “It is likely that he will now turn to the solution his family offers. A man in his position may well think that love no longer serves him.”
“I have lost him,” Elizabeth murmured.
“One only loses a man after he walks out of the church with his wife on his arm,” Mr Bennet replied.
“What do you mean?”
“What does he mean?” cried Mary, who had already imagined at least one happy ending to her sister’s story. “He means you must try to see him again. You said Miss Darcy invited you to visit their home if ever you found yourself in Derbyshire. You must go there!”
“Your sister is right. You are a fighter. This man loves you. A love such as his does not simply vanish in a matter of weeks. He wished for you to become his wife. He knows and respects you—he only needs to learn that your feelings for him have profoundly changed.”
“I would have to face his family,” Elizabeth murmured. “Lady Catherine, for instance.”
“Lady Catherine is but one part of his family. You said Miss Darcy and Lady Oakham are friendly, and they are the ones who truly matter.”
“I would have to defy tradition—even you said so.”
“And since when has Elizabeth Bennet been afraid to defy the rules of decorum or to question tradition?” Mr Bennet asked with a smile.
“What is happening here?” a voice called from the doorway, and they turned in surprise to see Mrs Bennet, clearly vexed that they were conversing without her within her own home.
“Nothing, my dear. The girls just came to invite me for a stroll.”
And in no time, they were all stepping out into the gentle May sunshine, leaving Mrs Bennet slightly perplexed but far from suspecting any conspiracy was taking place in her house without her knowledge.
“He wrote back to you,” Mr Bennet whispered to Elizabeth.
“Yes, how did you know that?” she asked, yet not at all surprised by her father’s keen sense of observation.
In the hall, a letter had been waiting for her.
She had put it in her pocket in haste, confident that no one had seen, but she had recognised the writing, and her heart had begun to pound in a worrying rhythm.
“The radiant glow that enveloped your beautiful face a moment ago.”
Elizabeth merely smiled, taking her father’s arm.
He did not need further details, while Elizabeth longed to read the letter.
But still, she went for a walk with her father and sisters; for, once the initial joy had faded, an insidious fear took hold of her—that the letter might contain bad news.
She preferred to keep it in her pocket for a few moments longer and dream of a few happy words.